


A Gentleman Risks All

by Rosella92



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-02-01 23:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 26,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12715473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosella92/pseuds/Rosella92
Summary: An alternate to Episode 3 in Series 3 (His Last Vow)It's Christmas time in the Holmes household, and John's invited Greg to join in the festivities, which makes things a bit more...complicated for Mycroft.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is something I wrote last night, and it's unbeta-ed and has not been Brit picked, so please let me know if edits are needed! Hope you like it!

"An assassin?" Mummy didn't bother to stop her guffaws, much to John's delight. Mycroft had already enjoyed the utter failure of his younger brother's most recent deductions, but seeing him pout and writhe in his seat like a chastised toddler was uplifting.

"Mary's behavior was most peculiar..."

"You made her nervous, you git!"

"And therefore," Sherlock continued, ignoring John's outburst, "I came to what I still determine to be a sound conclusion."

"That she kills people for money!"

Sherlock sniffed and plucked another gingerbread man from the plate on the table. "I could argue that my deduction was correct, when put in those terms."

John rolled his eyes. "Being a fiction writer of crime novels does lead to "killing off" characters, yes. You've got her there, oh great consulting detective."

Sherlock settled back in his chair, preening at the acknowledgement and apparently ignoring the impressive volume of sarcasm in it. "Yes, well...if I hadn't found that flashdrive, you might have never known the truth, John."

"A false conclusion," Mycroft interjected, taking a sip of tea as everyone turned to him. "Mary was clearly waiting until the eve of her nuptials to let Dr. Watson know of her alias, and therefore her fortune as a tremendously successful novelist operating under the name of Lydia Stanwood. A shrewd move, I must say."

"I am not the sort of man who would marry a woman for her money!" John glared at Mycroft. "I have my integrity, thank you very much."

Mycroft snorted. "In Mary's case, she was more nervous about the story she'd written based on you and my brother. The woman is clearly besotted with you and seems to find Sherlock as a suitable...friend, as well as a source of inspiration."

Sherlock pursed his lips. "That character is a unhinged caricature at best. And that name! What sort of detective is named "Norbury"?"

"I think it's marvelous that our Sherlock will be a fictional character," Mummy cooed, prompting both of her boys to roll their eyes. "Oh hush! It's quite flattering, Sherlock. Stop pretending that you aren't chuffed to bits about it."

"Quite marvelous," Father echoed, putting another kettle on... unusual, as no one asked for another cup of tea and he didn't drink tea right before dinner. That meant one of their friends was coming over...how horrid. "John, what will be the title of the novel featuring this Norbury fellow and Dr. Rathbone?"

John grinned. "A Gentleman Risks All," he stated proudly. "Her editor loved the draft she sent. Seems to think it would work well as a series."

"Oh god." Ever theatrical, Sherlock sighed and placed his head in his heads. "I will become immortal as a deranged man named Norbury."

"Who solves all his cases, so I don't know what you're whinging about." John smirked as Sherlock groaned. "Might get you more cases too, Sherlock. International ones, even. Mary's books are quite popular in the United States."

Sherlock perked up but then seemed to remember himself. "Oh yes, Americans seeking assistance with contacting school friends long out of touch, or lost pets. I am simply quivering with anticipation."

"Is Mycroft in the book as well?" Mummy asked, prompting said Holmes brother to cease breathing for a moment. Good god, did that woman...make him into a fictional character?

"Not this one, but the next, perhaps." John glanced at him. "She wanted to get permission first, Mycroft."

A sigh of relief from the older Holmes brother was inaudible as the younger Holmes brother sputtered loudly. "Why does she need _his_ permission to abuse his likeliness in prose, but _I_..."

The diatribe was cut off by Father's announcement of "Oh! Looks like he's arrived!" and both he and Mummy scurried outside to greet their visitor. Mycroft began bracing himself for this new arrival - perhaps Mr. Jenkins, who would go on about his garden, or Mr. Chamberlain, a dullard who insisted on telling the Holmes family about his memories of Father in primary school. These ruminations ended when John looked out the window, smiling and waving at the arriving guest. Mycroft narrowed his eyes at the doctor, ready to start his inquiry as to just how he knew their parents' friends, when the voices grew louder and the back door opened to reveal Mummy and Father, chatting happily with...

...Inspector Lestrade?

"Gene. What are you doing here?" Sherlock looked just as befuddled at this new development. 

"I invited Greg." John stepped forward and took the man's coat. "What with Mary already set to visit her parents and her sister for the holidays, and Greg not having any Christmas plans, I asked your mum and dad if he could join us and they said they'd love to meet him."

"But you didn't ask _me_ ," Sherlock pouted. "Why does no one ask _my_ permission for anything?"

"Probably because no one dares to approach the almighty Oracle that is Sherlock Holmes," Greg retorted, much to Mummy and Father's amusement. His dark eyes scanned the room and landed on Mycroft. "All right, Mycroft?"

Biting down something that might resemble a smile, Mycroft managed a nod. He was saved from forming a retort by Sherlock's appalling lack of manners.

"Where will you be staying? My room is not sufficient for a cot, nor will I allow such an arrangement as you would sully my personal items with your obvious need to inject yourself into my life. John has taken up residence in the guest bedroom, so unless you want to share a bed with him and add even more fodder for Mary's upcoming series of lurid pulp fiction, I suppose it's the couch for you."

As Sherlock was chastised by both Mummy and Father gasping his name in shock, John sputtering about inappropriate remarks and Greg incredulously stating something along the lines of " _I_ interject myself into YOUR life?", Mycroft only seemed to fixate on how Sherlock skipped his room as a possibility for Greg to sleep in.

Good god, what was in those blasted gingerbread cookies? Mycroft had only had two and clearly they were affecting his mind and body. He could feel his pulse quicken and stomach muscles tighten when Greg walked in with that grin of his. There would need to be a firm discussion with Mummy about deviating from common recipes and adding strange ingredients that caused such reactions.

"For the record, Sherlock, we've long ago converted your old laboratory into a guest room..."

"Blasphemy!"

"And this is where our second guest will be staying," Father finished, then turned to Greg. "Inpector Lestrade, I would apologize for my son's outburst, but I am sure you are well acquainted with his utter stupidity when it comes to being a gracious host."

Sherlock stared at Father in horror at being called stupid and scoffed, turning in his chair to face the wall.

"S'alright. I appreciate the hospitality, of course. And Sherlock continues to be Sherlock." Greg hoisted his bag onto his shoulder. "I'll just set my bag down and then see about helping with dinner."

Mummy tutted at him. "You'll do no such thing! Dinner assistance, I mean. It's all taken care of...Mycroft, love, go show Greg to his room, then both of you come down for a cuppa. Perhaps by then Sherlock will be ready to apologize."

Mycroft stood, feeling slightly light-headed as he passed his parents and John glaring at Sherlock, who merely glared back at them. "Yes, well. I don't know if I'd rely much on the second part of that statement, but I can certainly assist with the first." He strode out of the kitchen and headed upstairs, all too aware of Greg's presence behind him. Thankfully, the man remained silent, the only sounds being their footsteps and Sherlock petulantly stating something about not having said anything wrong. 

They reached the second guest room, which bore no traces of its previous existence as Sherlock's laboratory; the clinical white walls now had navy blue and green striped wallpaper that wasn't completely hideous, and the small desks that once held beakers, samples, and notepads were gone, replaced with a queen sized bed with a blue duvet cover and a small nightstand. A quick check of the room concluded that no childhood photos of Mycroft adorned the walls or the nightstand, much to his relief.

"This is very cozy! And it used to be Sherlock's lab? I'm surprised the house is still standing." Greg placed his bag on the duvet and looked around, chuckling. "What sort of experiments did he get up to?"

"Gathering specimens, mostly, from local wildlife. This included animal droppings until Mummy put a stop to it, then it was carcasses, which led to a compromise of obtaining bones and marrow from one of Father's colleagues at a local medical school." Mycroft suppressed a smirk at Greg's lifted eyebrow. "Father had...quite a bit of influence, particularly in that period of time. Still does, of course, but he has delegated his former duties so that he could fully enjoy his retirement."

"Powerful man, I take it? I can see that you take after him, then." And then...the man winked at him! As if they were mates in a bar...this was most strange behaviour. People did not wink at Mycroft Holmes. It simply wasn't done. Perhaps the voodoo-like ingredients in those gingerbread cookies traveled with the aroma, becoming airborne. It would be best to monitor his own reactions and those of others for the remainder of the day. Then later, that talk with Mummy about abstaining from cooking with mind-altering ingredients.

"Let me show you around," Mycroft said with what he considered to be an impressively reserved air. He would not be the ingracious host his brother was, but he did not need to be chummy with the inspector. Mycroft led him to the guest bath and lavatory, which was an appropriate distance from the guest room, and noted that the eye wash station had been uninstalled (it was a necessity when Sherlock began burning through his collection of goggles, quite literally). "So do care not to conduct experiments in your room that might affect your eyesight, Inspector."

Greg's snort of laughter and subsequent peals of hilarity made Mycroft ponder his words, then became quite stunned. He'd very much suggested that the Inspector would be...enjoying himself in the guest room, and that his eyesight might...oh dear...oh, it had become rather warm suddenly, hadn't it?

"My... Mycroft," Greg managed, still giggling and wiping at his face. "I can assure you no such experimentation will occur while I'm a guest in your home."

"I..." Mycroft cleared his throat. Good god, it was hot! He had to remove his jacket lest he start sweating. Oh, but would that be seen as suggestive? No, the jacket had to go, but he had to divert attention from the action... "I do apologize, Inspector, I meant no such thing. Let us proceed to the next floor, where Sherlock's room and the other guest room, or John's room for a brief period, are and...you'll be happy to note that your room is not directly below Sherlock's. He is known to pace and sometimes talk to himself whilst others sleep." Mycroft hurried on, unbuttoning his shirt to let in a more cool air. Yes, that was more like it... "There is another washroom on this floor if you need it for any reason during your stay."

A curious humming sound precluded a rather keen observation by the detective. "Sherlock didn't get to have his lab by his room? Bet he didn't like that arrangement."

"No, he did not. John's room used to be Father's study, and was off limits for him for...well, its entirety until this week. He has already infiltrated the space, having gone through John's personal things to determine if he had packed Sherlock's violin. He had not, by the way, and John was most displeased... though why he was surprised honestly astonishes me."

"The very thing he accused me of planning! Daft bastard. Ah, sorry Mycroft, he's your brother, shouldn't call him that." 

At this, Mycroft allowed himself to smile. "No apology needed, Inspector. I can assure you I have called him far worse over the years."

The detective turned those dark eyes to him and yes, there would need to be a discussion with Father about the ventilation in this house, as it was quite abnormal for it to be this hot. "Greg."

"What, ah..."

"Call me Greg, Mycroft. Christ, how long have we known each other? And here I am in your home." That grin reappeared and oh, the pulse quickening from those blasted cookies... 

"Ah, yes. Well. Erm." Not another button would be undone, lest Mycroft makes it appear that his goal is to become nude in front of the other man...damn the heat in this house! "On we go, the next floor up...here is Mummy and Father's room, and their study, more of a small library...and there you have it."

Greg...no, Gregory, that was more appropriate and far less presumptuous and congenial...was smiling at him again. Not quite his infamous grin, but more than a smirk. "You forgot something."

"Yes, we passed on through the living room, but you'll be seeing that later after dinner. Mummy and Father have informed me that they shall regale stories of mine and Sherlock's childhood and our protests have fallen on deaf ears."

Gregory snickered. "Definitely looking forward to that, but I meant...your room, Mycroft. Don't tell me you're on the couch. First off, it couldn't accommodate you with those long legs of yours. Plus, your protective stance tells me that your room is just past those stairs behind you."

Feelings of horrified exposure aside, Mycroft felt a keen admiration for Inspector Lestrade. The man had endless patience, as evidenced by his voluntary interactions with Sherlock, and was in no way a dullard imbecile (Sherlock's assessment of the man was unreliable at best). Also, while his instinct told him to straighten his spine and offer a cold rebuke, this was a guest in his home, and relations would already be strained with Sherlock's inevitable histrionics. The best approach would be a... cordial one.

"You are correct in your assessment, Insp... Gregory, and yes, this stairway does lead to my room."

Gregory laughed softly. "Normally I don't care too much for being called Gregory, but...I like it from you. The way you say it. It suits you...suits us."

Mycroft nodded, fighting the urge to take a deep breath. "Sometimes Mummy refers to me as Myc, which I do not care for, as it is the abbreviated term of affection for men named Michael, and as I've informed her, she ought to call me by the full name I'm given."

"I like your name, it's far better than Sherlock, if you don't mind me saying. Sherlock sounds like a bloke too pissed to say the word "shamrock"."

A most embarrassing guffaw emitted before Mycroft could stop it, and pressing a hand to his mouth did not cease the deranged sounding giggles. Gregory seemed to delight in his mirth and joined in the laughter, which lead to the two of them snickering like schoolboys having just pulled a prank on their headmaster. 

"Come...come on," Gregory managed. "Let's go in before they find us and we...we have to explain why we're laughing."

Mycroft turned, beaming as they quickly climbed the stairs into his bedroom. For some reason he quickly slammed the door behind them and leaned against it, still gathering his breath. A curious elation overtook him as he registered his current situation; hiding from his parents and his little brother, safe in his room, his sanctuary, with his...his...friend?

It was not something he'd experienced in his youth, but to have it now was something quite unique, and would most likely be one of the few memories he frequently revisited and examined in his own home when he had moments of private leisure.

"Oh...wow." Gregory's breathless exclamation took Mycroft back to the present, where the detective was openly admiring his collection of original abstract art, framed letters congratulating him on various achievements while he was in secondary school, medals, and... "Mycroft! You have a piano in your room!" 

After carefully hanging up his jacket, Mycroft turned and smiled at Gregory's obvious enthusiasm. "It used to reside in the living room, but Father had it brought up here after having these walls soundproofed so that I could practice at any time. Sherlock demanded a similar treatment for his room, but seeing how he treated his lab, they refused. They were fearful of a telltale explosion being muffled." Mycroft ran his fingers over the keys, careful not to press down on them. "I've played a bit since coming here, after most everyone is sleeping."

"Play something now." Gregory's eyes shone with excitement. "Please?"

Mycroft sighed. "Really, Inspector, we should be heading back down..."

"It's Gregory." Suddenly the man was close, very close, and Mycroft couldn't help but allow a current of observations about the Inspector...Gregory... run through his mind - jeans, at least five years old, a favorite pair; a new shirt, dark grey, carefully pressed; a black jacket, also new, purchased approximately a week - no, four days ago - cologne carefully applied, not too overwhelming but strong enough to pick up the scent when close, like now, and mint - he'd been chewing gum recently, several pieces, like he'd been nervous? No, that did not make sense, Mummy and Father were hardly intimidating figures. Gregory must be trying to quit smoking, hence the extra pieces of gum, and it was an admirable goal... "Mycroft, call me Gregory. And just something short... please? Just for now."

"All right," Mycroft whispered, and moved closer to the piano, taking in a deep breath as he placed his hands on the familiar keys. This might be the only time he'd get to play for Gregory, alone, so...

Chopin. Fantaisie-Impromptu.

His fingers flew, finding the rhythm and melody easily. The cross rhythms and key changes that brought so much strife to the fellow musicians in his classes were never much of a struggle for him. "Those damned fingers" they'd sneer, or just refer to him as "fucking Mycroft" and stomp off. Every time he played this piece he was accused of showing off, but the truth was that Mycroft enjoyed the quick changes. It kept him alert and interested. It wasn't simple, or dull, and it was beautiful... and challenging. Rewarding to those who learned it and respected it. He adored this piece.

Realizing he was starting to lose himself in the music, Mycroft played a few more notes and then stopped, leaning back and jumping when he came in contact with Gregory's chest.

"My god." The detective had moved closer to him, his scent and heat making the elder Holmes feel dizzy. "That was...good god, Mycroft, is there anything you can't do? That was brilliant, and gorgeous...you're incredible."

Mycroft couldn't help but smile, feeling oddly bashful. "Thank you, Gregory."

"I mean it." Gregory moved to his side and placed his right hand near Mycroft's left one, his index finger giving a slight caress. His voice was breathless, reverent. "You're remarkable. You could give concerts, play for the Queen - but you've probably already done that, yeah? After tea, during your monthly meetings, in a secret room only royalty and heads of state know about." Gregory laughed softly and curled his thumb over Mycroft's knuckles. "I shouldn't be surprised by finding out that you excel at something else. You're the most brilliant man I've ever met. And yes, I'm including Sherlock in that... I mean Shamrock, of course."

Mycroft made a sound resembling a laugh and let himself enjoy Gregory's touch for a few seconds more before standing up and moving away. "I...thank you, Insp... Gregory. Perhaps later we...ah. Ahem, sorry. Well. Let us go downstairs, and we'll...yes, downstairs." Mycroft didn't meet the other man's gaze as Gregory walked past him to the small hallway, but lifted his head when Gregory whispered his name.

"I might ask you to wake me the next time you want to play in the middle of the night," Gregory said softly, those dark eyes of staring right into Mycroft's pale blue ones. "Would love another private show." His famous grin made another appearance, and this time Mycroft returned it with a smile of his own. 

"Well...that would be..."

"...which resulted in me getting an ASBO!"

John's furious shout, followed by Mummy and Father's shared gasp and Sherlock responding in a calm, bored tone snapped Mycroft out of his momentary reverie. His sigh was echoed by Gregory, who looked a bit resigned but also fairly amused. 

"It looks like your apology has been abandoned, Gregory."

"Wonder if John will finally get one." Gregory's eyes actually twinkled. "Lead the way, Mycroft...it's time for another sort of entertainment."

Mycroft chuckled and noted with delight that Gregory closed the door to his room behind him. It showed a respect for his privacy and made their shared moment seem more intimate. Perhaps they could abscond away later in the evening for more music, and discussion...

"...a place where I won't find a severed head in the fridge!"

Much later in the evening, of course.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel so dumb, I forgot to mark this as a series at first! So sorry - there will be more chapters, hence the rating. Thanks for reading!

Sherlock was a bastard. Greg loved the guy, as a mate, mind you, but he was a right bastard. Right after he and Mycroft got downstairs, the little tosser gave him a pathetic apology for acting "inappropriately", filling the kitchen with so much sarcasm that it was a wonder they didn't all start choking. Then it went further, with John asking where his apology was, with the Holmes parents wondering the same thing, which lead to Sherlock being a tosser again, and throughout the whole thing Greg just kept trying not to stare at Mycroft, who seemed to be inspecting the gingerbread cookies for some reason.

Greg's crush was pathetic and hopeless. He knew that, but...there were moments between them. That first charged visit, when he wanted to grab the posh berk who summoned him to an empty warehouse and ruffle his fancy clothes, to a few shared glances over the years, and in Mycroft's room, just a few minutes ago.

He'd always been forward and open when flirting, taking care not to go too far, but fucking hell, Mycroft was sexy when he played piano. His fingers, that talent, the way his eyes closed after he began playing. That piece seemed damned impossible. Then again, nothing was impossible for Mycroft Holmes. 

Except...he seemed to close himself off just when Greg thought he'd be able to get a little closer. He couldn't help but touch one of his hands...god, those hands...how many nights had Greg thought about those hands while, what did Mycroft call it? Conducting experiments on himself...oh, those hands...

"Garrett!"

John snorted. "Gregory, Sherlock."

"Whatever. Lestrade, I require your assistance." Sherlock stood and flounced out of the kitchen, not bothering to wait for a response. 

Greg sighed and followed him, nodding at Mrs. Holmes who informed him that dinner would be ready in fifteen minutes. The younger Holmes brother stood in the middle of his room, arms folded, staring at an unpacked bag on his bed. Greg moved to stand next to him, waited in silence for what felt like hours, then cleared his throat. "Okay, I give up. Why have you brought me here?"

Sherlock whirled on him, glaring. Those odd blue eyes - not as pale as Mycroft's, but just as piercing - bore into him. Greg glared back, then felt his stomach drop. Did Sherlock deduce his crush on his older brother? Was he going to embarrass him in front of Mycroft? Oh Christ, was he going to ask his intentions?

"I need you to wrap John's gift."

Greg frowned. "You what?"

"I spoke very clearly just now." Sherlock motioned to the bag. "John favors curry, and the owner of The Cinnamon Palace, who owes me a favor, since I determined his wife was not in fact stealing money from him but _was_ helping herself to his pornographic magazine stash full of assorted lesbians, as she was a closeted bisexual - they now are in the "swingers" scene, which is apparently just the boon their marriage needed, and I would have suggested it for you, Gabriel, but your wife seemed to be involving herself in that scene on her own - the owner and his now openly bisexual wife arranged a collection of rare spices and a small wooden shelf with John's initials carved into it, courtesy of the owner's new swinger friend who is a talented carpenter as well as a well-endowed lover, judging on how the owner's wife smiled when his name was mentioned." Sherlock waved his hand. "Mummy provided me with wrapping paper. Plain blue, dull. Feel free to add a ribbon or bow if you want to make it more presentable."

Gregory managed not to let his jaw drop. "You...got John a spice rack."

"Yes."

"So he can cook curry for you?"

Sherlock sniffed. "He could have some of the curry, of course. Were you not listening? John enjoys curry, and the owner of The Cinnamon Palace..."

"Yes, yes, I've got it." Greg took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. "This is... actually a very thoughtful gift, Sherlock."

If you didn't know the man, you'd think Sherlock hadn't reacted, but Greg was able to spot a gleam of pride and relief in the younger man's eyes. "It is indeed."

"Why can't you wrap it yourself, then?"

"I do not have the time for such trivial pursuits..."

"And I do?"

"And this will give you something to do. Think of it as thanking me for allowing you to sleep in my laboratory."

Greg rolled his eyes. "Good god...fine. Fine. I'll wrap John's gift for you. Is he wrapping mine?"

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "Wrapping your what?"

"My gift, you tit. Or did you not bother to get me anything for Christmas?"

"I did not know you would be here for Christmas, and furthermore, no."

"Lovely. What did you get Mary, then?"

"I allowed her to use my likeness for her ridiculous drivel."

"Your parents?"

"I did not decline this year's invitation for a Christmas weekend."

"Charming. What about your brother?"

Sherlock cut a sly gaze to him. "What _about_ my brother, Inspector?" he damn near purred.

Greg froze, determined not to gulp, or let his eyes widen, or breathe too hard. "Er...his present. What did you get him?"

"Oh..." Sherlock waved his hand around, disinterested. "Do be quick with this, Lestrade. Time is running out, and soon it will be a new year." With that, he turned on his heel and strode out.

Greg stared after him, then sighed. How did this become his life?

•••••••••••••••••••••••

After quickly wrapping John's gift, Greg quickly made his way downstairs, just as Mrs. Holmes was setting the food on the table. Roast beef, potatoes, parsnips, red cabbage, and trifle for dessert. The food was delicious, and it would have been almost normal, except when Sherlock and Mycroft got into an argument over Descartes and Archimedes, after which the senior Mr. Holmes interjected with a series of quotes from Michel Foucault. Mrs. Holmes, in between encouraging everyone to eat and refilling glasses, began telling how she read everything she could about her idols, Ada Lovelace and Sophie Germain...by the time she was six.

Greg met John's eyes, who just smirked and shook his head. It was...Christmas in the Holmes house, and they were witnesses to it.

"That was a lovely meal, Mrs. Holmes," Greg said, giving her one of his most charming grins. She scoffed but beamed, swatting at him when he tried to help with clearing the table. 

"You're too kind, Greg, but none of that! My guests do not clean...you too, John, you step away from that sink...off to the living room with you two. We have some stories to tell, I think you'll both find them quite amusing."

Both her sons sighed, with Mycroft cupping a glass of brandy and striding into the living room. Greg stared at his long frame, the grace of his movements...they were so damned captivating. Did he seriously not know how seductive he was? No, it couldn't be possible. But Sherlock didn't seem to be aware of how obnoxious _he_ was, so maybe it was a family trait?

"Mary says hello," John muttered, appearing at his side and staring at his phone. "I'm still getting used to the idea of her...she's bloody rich, Greg. She's friends with J.K. Rowling, for fuck's sake. How can I compete with that?"

Greg snorted. "Don't need to compete with it mate, it's a part of your life now. And if you can survive living with Sherlock, you can survive marrying a woman who can fucking _build_ an Indian restaurant for you." Seeing John frown, Greg hurried on, not wanting to hint at Sherlock's gift. "Tell Mary I said hello, and hello to Ms. Rowling too - I'm a big fan."

John grinned. "Maybe Ms. Rowling is single? Get us a set of women writers for wives, never have to work another day in our lives?"

Greg looked into the living room, where Mycroft stood in front of the fireplace, drink in hand, looking delectable. All Greg wanted to do was go in there and wrap his arms around him, whisper into his ear how much he wanted him, how when he saw Mycroft Holmes he was stupid enough to hope he had a chance with the man.

"Nah...I think I'll find my own way." Greg smiled to himself, and walked toward the elder Holmes brother, knowing he was grinning like an idiot but didn't care a damned bit.


	3. Chapter 3

There was not enough brandy in the world for this evening.

Mummy's stories about Sherlock's early experiments _were_ entertaining, however. Recalling the instance of when Sherlock had decided that immersing himself in honey and birdseed would be a practical method of luring birds was most enjoyable. Sherlock's protests were that his methods resulted in their aviary being built, which enabled a more feasible means of observing their nesting methods. John's inability to stop laughing hysterically only made everyone else laugh harder.

Inevitably the stories about Mycroft began, and oh, of course Father had to bring out pictures. Yes, there was one of him and Sherlock, and oh, what was that, Gregory? Why was Mycroft in a fitted sheet? Oh, well, Sherlock had cut up all his brother's trousers. He'd planned to fashion a sort of large balloon so that he might try to enact his own rendition of a Jules Verne story. Mummy was going to head to the shops for replacements, yes, and their tailor was on holiday and well, Mycroft could not parade around nude in the meantime, could he? Hence the sheet. Oh yes, how hilarious. Keep laughing, John. Perhaps another ASBO would be forthcoming.

"You can see that Mycroft's weight struggle has been ongoing for some time," Sherlock drawled from the settee. He was draped over it, his arm over his eyes like a tragic Victorian figure. Clearly he was still recovering from the honey and birdseed tale. "Local bakeries have made a fortune on his appetite. His gluttony has built confectionery empires."

"Oh, hush." Mummy waved a hand at her younger son. "Mycroft has grown into his weight and looks rather healthy. You, on the other hand, are not leaving this house until you gain a stone, at the very least."

Sherlock snorted and turned his back to the lot of them, mumbling about superior metabolism and cake.

John managed to stop giggling and picked up a picture. "Hold on...is that..." 

"Oh! Yes, Prince Harry had just turned seven. An adorable child. We don't see them too often now, of course, but we've all been so busy." Mummy handed cups of tea to a shocked John and Greg. "Her Majesty was quite impressed with _my_ boys. They played for her! Mycroft with his piano, and Sherlock with his violin. It was delightful."

"John didn't bring my violin!" Sherlock yelled from the settee.

"Why didn't you pack it yourself?" John asked incredulously. "And I don't even live with you anymore!"

"A ludicrous point. You have brought a ridiculous amount of baggage with you, and yes, please do not miss the double meaning of that word - and yet, my violin is not here."

Mycroft finished his brandy, keeping his eyes on the fire in front of him as Sherlock and John argued. Mummy and Father were talking to Gregory, presumably describing another embarrassing anecdote. Mycroft had refused a seat earlier, remaining standing by the fireplace. Sitting near his parents would only entice them to further humiliate him. And the idea of sitting next to Gregory was...if Mycroft just stood here, in front of the fire, he could pretend he was removed from all of this... awkward closeness. All these... uncomfortable feelings.

It would be rude to retire to bed this early, and would only result in being admonished by both Mummy and Father. There was also a chance that Sherlock would humiliate him in front of Gregory, as there was little doubt in Mycroft's mind that his little brother hadn't already deduced his amorous feelings toward the detective. All he could do was try to bear his humiliation in silence. 

"I have a question." 

And suddenly the man himself was standing right next to him. Mycroft stared at him in surprise, unable to speak. 

Greg moved closer and murmured directly into his ear. "I want to know what you played for the Queen. Maybe you can play it for me later?"

Something seized at his gut. People did not approach Mycroft Holmes to whisper in his ear, asking to spend private time with him in his bedroom. This was some sort of mistake, or ruse. Suddenly Mycroft realized that if Sherlock deduced his feelings, then Gregory must have done the same, and was mocking him. Perhaps he did not think he was being cruel, and that this was all in good fun. Tease the odd man with foolish notions, for wanting something that was completely and utterly beyond his reach.

In a swift motion, Mycroft finished his drink and turned away from him. "Forgive me, but I must be adjourning for the evening." He gave a slight bow to his parents, set his empty glass down, and hurried up the stairs. 

"Coward," Sherlock called out, heightening his shame.

  
•••••••••••••••••••••••  


Mercifully, no one followed him.

Loneliness did not affect him in past years, and it would not now. It was a mere attraction to Gregory Lestrade, and nothing more. The man was handsome; anyone could see that. Best to simply acknowledge it, and move on.

Mycroft changed into his sleepwear, averting his gaze from the mirror, brushed his teeth and settled into bed. He was reading texts from Anthea (nothing pressing, but the prime minister was hoping to meet a week sooner than expected) when there was a soft knock at his door. Mycroft sighed, tempted to ignore it, but he knew it was either Mummy or Father, or even both. Ignoring them would be most detrimental to the cautious tone that had been set for the holiday, and Mycroft certainly did not want to lower himself to Sherlock's churlish level. He got out of bed and padded to the door, taking a deep breath as he opened it.

Gregory stood in front of him, looking contrite. "Mycroft. I'm sorry, I know you came up here to sleep, but I just, um, wanted to say something."

 _Of course._ Apparently the day's humiliation was not over yet. Gregory had arrived to confront Mycroft over his obvious and inappropriate affection. Steeling himself, Mycroft nodded and stepped aside so that Gregory could come in. Not wanting an unintentional audience, Mycroft shut the door behind him with a soft click. 

Gregory was watching him. Mycroft lifted his head and met his gaze. He would not be undone by this. "Say what you need to say, Inspector," he said in what he hoped was a cool and detached tone. "Let us get this done with, and quickly."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all had a great Thanksgiving (if you celebrate it - if not, I hope you still had a great day)! Thank you all for reading!

Well, this had all gone pear shaped. 

In a perfect world, Greg would still be in Mycroft's room, but they'd be sitting at the piano...or on his bed...maybe sharing another glass of brandy, with Greg's hand on Mycroft's leg, letting it move up as they talked and laughed...

But instead, the brilliant, powerful, incredibly sexy man that apparently wanted nothing to do with the scruffy, lowly Greg Lestrade stood in front of him, glaring. After dinner, Mycroft had planted himself in front of the fire while his parents told embarrassing (albeit interesting and fairly amusing) stories. Greg had listened, keeping an eye on him, careful not to lose himself in laughter like John. That long, lean frame was wrought with tension, and while Mycroft was trying to portray a picture of utter indifference, he looked as though he was ready to use those long legs of his and run off, brandy in hand.

Stupidly, Greg had thought he was being sweet and seductive, but in reality he'd been an obnoxious idiot. Mycroft had grown even more uncomfortable, and left. 

And now he had clearly had enough of the detective that had indeed inserted himself into his life, even disrupting Christmas with his family. Greg had been skeptical when John had rung him, asking if he'd had any plans for the holiday since Mary had booked her flight to her parents' house long in advance. Meeting the people who had produced such an odd man as Sherlock was intriguing, but the circumstances would be too awkward for an extended visit. Then John had mentioned that it would be good to have another "normal bloke" around, since he had no idea what sort of people Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were like, and furthermore, Mycroft would also be spending the weekend at the Holmes's residence, and that, according to John, would be "definitely entertaining but potentially dangerous" with Sherlock around. Their parents had even suggested John bringing a friend since Mary could not make it, and that two people distracting their sons would be "most beneficial".

"Oh, so Mycroft will be there as well?" Greg had bit back a smile and agreed to come, trying to sound nonchalant. "Well, sure, best to help avoid any disasters. I'm rather used to that with Sherlock, so yes, why not?" He'd thanked John and told him to pass along his gratitude to the Holmes parents as well, then did a bit of a victory dance and immediately started making plans. 

A weekend with Mycroft Holmes! Granted, not a private one, but they'd be in the same house! No distractions from work...well, Mycroft would be working on things, of course, and Sherlock would be there to drive them all mad, but they could talk to each other! Share a laugh! Eat and drink together, and then maybe Greg could work up his courage and charm for the man he'd had his eye on for some time. 

But no, he'd only irritated him, and now he had to apologize. Then he'd be off to his room, by himself, and fuck it, maybe do some experiments on himself after all. Wasn't like anyone else would be assisting with that for a while anyway. Lauren had made it clear how unappealing she'd found him, particularly on the memorable night she left. After she'd delivered a monologue on the subject, running down a list of some of his physical attributes and personality traits that she thought were "lackluster", he'd had numerous drinks, a wank, and a long cry.

Now, it looked like it was going to happen all over again.

Mycroft sighed impatiently, and Greg crossed his arms against his chest, unable to meet his gaze. It was far too tempting to run off, but Greg had seen how uncomfortable he'd made Mycroft, and he had to apologize - and quickly. He could deal with his self pity over what would inevitably be a cold rejection later.

"Mycroft, I...um. Well...I wanted to -"

"Yes?" The glare intensified.

"I wanted to..."

(Kiss you)

"...say that I was sorry for being so forward -"

(And stupid)

"Forward?" Mycroft sounded confused. "Explain."

"Because, well..."

"Yes? What?"

"Because! Because I should have said that I fancied you, but you make me nervous, and..." Greg froze as he realized he said that last part out loud. "Oh. Oh shit."

Mycroft was staring at him with a look of utter shock. "What did you just say?"

"I, ah..." Greg's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fuck it. I like you, all right?" 

"Like me?" The hard lines of Mycroft's face had softened, making him look younger. "You...you _like_ me? How...."

"Yes! For a while now, all right? And yes, I know it's stupid, and you're not interested, so, fine, let's just skip this bit, yes?" Greg was near out of breath, his face warm. He set his hands on his hips and felt his jaw clench. 

Mycroft stepped forward, his eyes wide. "Skip what?"

"The bit where you tell me...that you don't want me. That I'm getting fat, and I'm too old, or I work too much and I'm boring, and- "

"Stop." Mycroft was right in front of him now, looking stunned and a bit horrified. "You think that I would say those things to you, that these are the opinions I have of you?"

"I...don't know." Greg stared at him, lost for words. He inhaled sharply when Mycroft lifted a hand to cup his cheek. 

Mycroft was looking at him with wonder, his thumb caressing his cheek. His eyes examined Greg carefully, undoubtedly taking in every detail.

"How could anyone think that of you?" Mycroft whispered, moving closer. "You're fascinating. Intelligent. Kind. And you're beautiful," he breathed. "My god, how can you think you're anything less than extraordinary?"

Greg could only stare. "You really think that?"

"God, yes. And I demand to know who told you otherwise."

Swallowing dryly, Greg managed to find his voice. "My ex-wife. She wasn't happy with me." 

"She is an idiot." Mycroft brought his other hand up to cup his face. "And you...you care for me?" he asked softly.

Greg smiled, bringing up his hands to hold Mycroft's wrists. "I thought you were smarter than your brother. You couldn't tell?"

Mycroft managed a smile. "Perhaps we have both have let our fears affect our ability to accurately observe pertinent details."

"Yeah." Greg's heart was nearly pounding out of his chest. He was grinning so hard he was sure he looked like a complete idiot. He didn't care. "So... you're not going to tell me to bugger off, then, when I say that I think you're extraordinary as well?"

The resulting fond smile and delighted gleam in Mycroft's eyes was enough to make every awkward moment Greg had with the man worth it to get to this point. "I will not, I assure you." He paused and leaned closer to whisper in Greg's ear. "Bach, Invention in F major."

"What?" Greg whispered back, his lips grazing Mycroft's earlobe.

Mycroft shivered a bit. "You asked me before what I played for Her Majesty as a child. It was a Bach piece, his Invention in F major." He lowered his lips to brush against Greg's neck. "Do you want me to play it for you?"

Greg managed a nod, then brought his hands up to stroke the hairs on the back of the other man's neck. "Yes, but I have a request."

"Mmm?"

Greg nuzzled against him. "Kiss me first," he murmured. "Please."

He felt and heard Mycroft take a deep breath, then watched as he turned his face so they were closer, just millimeters apart. Mycroft was still holding his face, caressing him with his thumbs. They moved closer, breathing softly, their eyes closing when their lips met. Greg let his hands wander into Mycroft's hair, stroking it as the taller man followed suit and ran those long fingers against Greg's scalp, making him moan. He opened his mouth, slipping his tongue out slightly, whimpering when he felt the brush of the other man's tongue against his. After a few moments of gentle contact, Greg pulled himself back a bit, not wanting to rush things. His hands soothed at Mycroft's neck, moving down to grasp at his shoulders. "Oh wow," he breathed.

Mycroft sighed shakily, his hands in Greg's hair. "You... you're really here. With me. In my room."

Greg smiled and nodded, his arms wrapping around him. "I am."

Mycroft sighed again, then moved his hands down to grasp at Greg's. "Come, then. Sit next to me while I play for you."

Heart pounding, Greg beamed and followed him to the piano, unable to believe his luck.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the rating to explicit since I think it's more suitable for this chapter and future ones. Thank you to everyone who has been reading this, and for your kudos and comments! There is more to come for this story. Thanks again!

This would be the most memorable performance of his life. Mycroft was certain of it. Playing for the Queen was a significant memory, but leading Gregory Lestrade to his personal piano in his bedroom surpassed every recollection of that day. Mycroft could still taste the other man's mouth on the tip of his tongue. 

When they sat down, they exchanged a grin, and then Mycroft set his attention to the piano. "Two part invention, Number 8 in F Major" he murmured, and began to play. 

After a few moments Mycroft nearly made an error when Gregory moved closer. He kept playing when Gregory put his hand on Mycroft's knee, and managed to keep playing as he slowly moved his hand up.

"Good god" Mycroft whispered, pausing briefly to take a deep breath.

Gregory laughed softly and nuzzled at his neck. "Don't stop" he murmured.

"Right." _I can manage this. I am more than capable of maintaining composure and concentration._ Mycroft's hands shook a bit, but he managed to continue playing.

"I'll make a deal with you." Gregory's voice had dropped to a low growl. "If you keep going, I'll keep going. If you want me to stop, if I'm making you uncomfortable or I'm moving too fast, stop playing. Then I'll stop and it'll be okay." He placed a gentle kiss on Mycroft's neck. "Deal?"

"Yes" Mycroft whispered, gritting his teeth when Gregory's hand moved farther up, finally resting on his inner thigh. "Wait. I need to play something else." It seemed...garish to play Bach's Invention with Gregory clearly trying to seduce him. Mentally he rifled through the extensive catalog of pieces he knew by heart, and found one that would be quite suitable. 

Gregory hummed and moved a bit closer. "Something just for me, then?"

"Yes." _And for this moment, right now._ Feeling bold, Mycroft leaned closer, sweeping his lips against Gregory's ear. The resulting sharp intake of breath was _sinful_. "Are you familiar with Liszt?"

"Can't say that I am," was the growled response.

Mycroft smiled and turned back to the piano, settling into the first Mephisto Waltz as if he was slowly wading into a body of water. "He was extremely popular. Women would quite literally throw themselves at him. The way he played was undoubtedly a factor. He would -" Mycroft nearly stuttered as Gregory began rubbing his fingers in small circles against his thigh. His muscles twitched traitorously. "He would move as he played, waving his hair around. Audiences were hypnotized by him."

"I know the feeling" Gregory whispered.

Mycroft closed his eyes, letting himself get lost in the music and the feel of the other man - his hand, his body next to his, the sound of his breathing. "This piece is a fascinating one. It tells of Faust and the devil interrupting a wedding banquet. The devil steals a violin and begins playing, causing Faust to dance rather maniacally with a local woman. They dance into the night, escaping into the woods, completely under the seductive power of the music."

"Good god" Gregory shivered and breathed into Mycroft's neck. "You have no idea, do you. I've wanted you for so long. Didn't want to admit it, as I figured I'd never have a chance." The tip of his tongue trailed a line down Mycroft's neck. "God, your skin...I want to taste every inch of your skin."

Mycroft moaned softly, keeping his eyes closed. Was it possible this was a dream? An elaborate, incredibly vivid dream....

"Is this okay?" Greg moved his hand up, just barely brushing against Mycroft's groin. "I don't want to rush you. I just...you're so fucking sexy." 

Mycroft whimpered as Gregory's fingertips slid just under the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. "Yes, yes, please...more..."

"Keep playing, Mycroft." Gregory's fingers dipped lower, slowly, exploring his skin. Mycroft nearly cringed when they brushed against his stomach, but relaxed when the other man sighed with pleasure.

"I don't want to rush this. I really don't, Mycroft, but I fucking _really_ want to touch you, every inch of you. I want to feel you against me. I want everything." Gregory's fingers grazed lower until they grazed the base of his Mycroft's cock, making his erection jump eagerly. "Tell me if this is okay."

"Yes, yes, _oh god_..." Mycroft continued to play, shivering as the other man wrapped his hand around him. He was certain the structure of the piece had been compromised, but he was impressed with himself for being able to continue to play. That was, until Gregory swiped his thumb over the tip of his cock and moaned in his ear. "Oh god oh _god_ I can't oh god Gregory..."

Gregory made a small noise and suddenly his hand was gone. Mycroft opened his eyes, panting, his hands still resting on the keys. "What...Gregory, why did you..."

"I...oh." Gregory was breathing hard and looked nervous. His hands clutched at the piano bench. "I thought you were telling me to stop."

Mycroft's eyes grew wider. "No! No, I...I'm sorry...we, we had a deal and I kept..."

"Oh. Yes, right." Gregory smiled shyly and licked his lips. "So you, ah. Want to...keep going, then?"

"Yes. Yes, but I, ahem." Mycroft took a deep breath and set his hands on his knees. "I don't think I can keep up with our arrangement, I'm terribly sorry..."

Gregory moved closer, putting his arms around him. "I'm sorry, I didn't...I wasn't trying to..." He laughed softly when Mycroft leaned against him. "Logic went out the window there. If you're certain you want to keep going, we can, but tell me if you want to stop, all right? Promise me. I don't ever want you to regret me - I couldn't bear that."

Mycroft managed a chuckle and placed his hand over Gregory's heart. The notion of ever regretting a man such as this was preposterous. "I promise. But might I suggest...my bed would be better suited...?"

Gregory took in a deep breath. "Yes, that's...that's brilliant."

Mycroft got up first, turning off his lights so that the only source of illumination was from the moonlight, bathing the room in it's dark glow. He returned to Gregory, and they walked hand in hand the short distance to Mycroft's bed, with Mycroft getting in first and holding the sheets back for the other man. Gregory smiled, quickly removing his shoes before crawling into the bed. "If I had known this would be how things would have progressed, I would have changed first" he murmured.

Mycroft turned on his side, facing the other man. "You did not wait long to come to my room to speak with me."

Gregory met his gaze. "I had to work up the courage first. But I had to talk to you. The idea that I'd made you... unhappy..." Gregory frowned. "Wouldn't have been able to sleep."

Mycroft reached out to stroke at Gregory's hair, delighting in how this simple act made Gregory smile again. _Beautiful._ Before he could second guess himself, Mycroft lowered his hand to rest upon the other man's cheek. Gregory looked hopeful, even disbelieving, as Mycroft moved closer to gently kiss him.

Gregory brought his hands up Mycroft's face, stroking it softly, then began running his fingers over Mycroft's hair and the back of his neck. Their kiss progressed, both their hands wandering as their tongues slicked against each other. Mycroft grasped at the button of Gregory's trousers while Gregory's palms slid up and down Mycroft's back. His touch was intoxicating. _Surrender_ , Mycroft realized. _I will surrender to this man._

Tentative caresses became bolder, turning into frantic grabs. _"Mycroft."_ His name sounded like a distressed plea. "Please, you have to tell me...Are you sure...?"

"God, yes, yes." Although his hands were shaking, Mycroft managed to unbutton Gregory's trousers. He pulled at his shirt, then paused. "May I? I would like to undress you."

Gregory moaned desperately and writhed. "Fuck yes, do that." He froze, then cursed quietly. "Shit! We've been a bit loud, haven't we? The door is closed, but..." 

"Gregory." Mycroft smiled as he worked on unfastening the other man's shirt. "May I remind you that my room is sound proof?"

"Oh right! The piano..."

"And I am to assume that the others have retired for the evening?"

"Yes, your brother left first. Hardly surprising." Gregory pulled off his shirt and tossed it to the floor, prompting a delighted gasp from Mycroft. "John was saying goodnight to your parents when I came up here...mmm, yes." Gregory sighed as Mycroft ran his hands over this chest. "So yes, unless you...mmm..unless you expect any other visitors, it'll just be us."

"No other visitors are expected." Mycroft stole another kiss as he ran his hand over the waistband of Gregory's trousers and cautiously slid his hand inside. "Am I...also permitted to touch you?"

Gregory writhed and moaned. "God yes, touch me everywhere. Oh god...oh _holy fucking hell_..."

As his hand closed around Gregory's cock, Mycroft felt a sort of delirium wash over him as he slowly began to stroke. Gregory was hard as steel, and thick. The sounds he made were _maddening._

There were far too many barriers and restrictions for Mycroft's liking. He tugged at the waistband of Gregory's pants impatiently. Gregory managed to assist with pulling off his trousers and pants, kicking them to the floor. He was now fully naked, panting and waiting.

Mycroft reached for him again, wrapping his hand around him. The thickness of his cock was impressive. He imagined feeling the girth fill his mouth, stretching his jaw as his cock slid against his tongue, and began increasing the speed of his strokes. Beads of precome coated Mycroft's hand. He moved his other hand from Gregory's chest to the tip of his cock, letting his fingertips graze against the fluid. Gregory's cock jerked at the movement. Mycroft moved his fingers to dance over the length of him, delighting in how this made his cock pulse and jerk enthusiastically at his touch.

Gregory whined and clutched at Mycroft's shoulders. He whispered "please" in a desperate tone, nearly vibrating with need. Mycroft felt emboldened, a familiar sense of power settling into place. He smirked, then gave Gregory's cock a gentle squeeze while his other hand reached down to fondle Gregory's testicles. The detective whined and dug his fingernails into Mycroft's shoulders. The pain only spiked Mycroft's pleasure. 

"Have to touch you, have to, have to now, _now_ , right fucking now." Gregory reached for Mycroft's trousers with a predatory growl that made Mycroft's vision blur. His pyjamas were nearly torn off of him and thrown unceremoniously to the floor. Passion narrowed his focus enough that he did not feel self conscious about his nudity.

Gregory growled again when he saw Mycroft's erection. "Fuck, My." He used both his hands to grasp and fondle him, grunting as Mycroft moaned helplessly. "God, I knew you'd be big, but fucking _hell_ , this is...Christ, I need both hands for you. Look at that, all wet for me too. You gorgeous, sexy man. God, I've wanted you for so long." He moaned as Mycroft squeezed him in response, and gave Mycroft a quick squeeze as well. "God yes. Mycroft...My..." 

Both men stroked each other, gasping their pleasure into each other's mouths. After a few moments Gregory placed his hands on Mycroft's shoulders, eased him on to the bed and then climbed on top of him. Their erections pressed against each other and Gregory rolled his hips forward, grunting in satisfaction when Mycroft gasped and clutched his shoulders. "Wrap those legs around me" he instructed, pulling at Mycroft's outer thighs. "Want you like this, just like this."

Somehow Mycroft was able to follow his instructions without swooning. He looked down to watch as Gregory reached between them to take hold of both their erections, gently squeezing them. "Fuck my hand," he commanded in a low, gravelly voice that made Mycroft throb desperately. "Fuck my hand, fuck against my cock. Do it now, I'm going to do it too."

_"Gregory"_ Mycroft nearly sobbed, his hands furtively stroking his back, his hair, his shoulders. "Oh god yes..." He began to moan steadily as they moved together, their combined precome coating Gregory's hand. The bed began to shake with the man's forceful thrusts. "God yes...oh please, yes, don't stop."

"So fucking sexy... Mycroft...my god, you feel fucking incredible." Gregory's hips shoved forward harder. "God I've wanted this...wanted you...please, please..."

_Yes._ This was bliss, it was everything. Gregory was dominate in a way that made Mycroft want to weep in ecstasy. He _wanted_ Mycroft. He seemed to have been aching for him for some time, judging by the way he was moving and the desperate sounds he made. At some point they would do this again, and more, at a slow romantic pace, but their combined desperation and passion made tonight's coupling a frantic one. 

But this _was_ romantic, Mycroft managed to reason as Gregory whispered shockingly obscene praise in his ear. Their amorous notions, hidden from each other and even themselves, had built to an inescapable level, culminating in a display of passion that left them bereft of inhibitions and fear. It was terrifying, and wonderful, and it felt...oh god, it felt amazing.

The angle of his thrusts changed slightly, making the head of Gregory's cock nudge against his, and the feel of it, the knowledge of it brought Mycroft over the brink. He dug his hands into Gregory's shoulders and shouted as he climaxed, gasping when the other man also cried out and shuddered in his arms. Warmth spilled between them as they moaned and shivered, uttering sounds that resembled each other's names. Gregory kept his grip on them, giving them a gentle squeeze that made them both shiver.

"God. Oh god." Gregory collapsed on top of him, releasing them from his grip. He panted into Mycroft's shoulder. "God in heaven."

Mycroft held him close, staring up at the ceiling in shock. Gregory stirred in his arms, settling with a small noise when Mycroft began stroking his hair. 

"God, that was..." Gregory paused, then lifted himself up to look at Mycroft. "Are you all right?"

Mycroft nodded, unable to speak. Gregory gave him a gentle kiss, then sat up with a wince. "Going to grab something...just a moment, love." He headed to the en suite as Mycroft stared after him in shock. _Love._ A man he'd privately lusted after had just had _sex_ with him. The evidence of their passion was all over him. Mycroft stared down at his exposed chest, legs, everything, and was about to attempt to cover himself when Gregory returned. 

"Here, let me get that." Very gently Mycroft was cleaned with a small towel, which Gregory also used to wipe his hand. After he was finished he put the towel into the hamper and gave Mycroft a shy smile before climbing back into bed. Mycroft reached for him, overwhelmed by the urge to hold him. Gregory's smile grew and he settled back against him, sighing when Mycroft wrapped his arms around him. "Are you all right?" Gregory asked again, placing a soothing hand on Mycroft's stomach.

"I...Yes." Mycroft breathed deeply. "That was, ah, unexpected."

"But it was okay? Did I -"

"It was okay, yes." Mycroft grinned. "Actually it was quite wonderful."

Gregory laughed softly and hugged him. "Good. I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"I would have thought that was rather obvious."

To his delight, the other man actually _giggled_. "Well, yeah. I enjoyed myself too."

"Again, most evident."

Another adorable giggle was followed by a sweet kiss to Mycroft's neck. "You're fantastic." Gregory sighed and rested his head against him, making a soft noise when Mycroft kissed his hair. "Can I sleep here? Just for a little while. I always get up early, I'm used to it, you know? I'll slip back to my room before everyone wakes up. Don't want your parents thinking I came here just to debauch their eldest son."

Mycroft chuckled and rubbed his back. "You may sleep as long as you'd like. I would tell you not to worry about Mummy and Father, but I do not want to put you in a situation that makes you uncomfortable. Therefore, if you find it best to keep this to ourselves, we shall do that."

Gregory raised his head to look at him, his dark eyes wide. "My, I'm not ashamed of you, or us. I want to be with you, I have for a long time, and there's a part of me that wants to go running around telling everyone that I actually get to _kiss_ you now...I mean, I'm guessing I get to kiss you, and I just don't know if the timing would be right because we have to figure things out, yeah? Or whatever you're comfortable with. But it might be awkward for your _parents_ because they'd know something happened tonight, but oh god, they'll be able to tell, won't they? They'll deduce it?" Those dark eyes grew even wider. "Your brother will, and Sherlock is already a nightmare, and I swear I'll strangle him if he gives you any cheek, and-"

Mycroft had silenced people before with a cold stare, a laugh, and even a punch or two, but never before had he silenced someone with a kiss. Gregory sighed into his mouth and when the kiss broke, settled against him with a soft chuckle. "Ah. Sorry."

"It will be fine, Gregory." Mycroft smiled when this made his - lover? boyfriend? - hum in agreement and nuzzle against his chest. 

"Yeah. I just want you to be happy. Want to make you happy." Gregory yawned. "Want everything with you," he mumbled.

Mycroft felt an elation he'd never felt before, and hugged Gregory close. He struggled with a reply, but then heard the other man's deep breathing and knew he was asleep. "Everything," he echoed, and fell into a deep, satisfying slumber.


	6. Chapter 6

Warmth. A soft bed. Another heartbeat. 

Confusion gave way to memory, which made Greg smile. Mycroft was waking up as well, if the gentle stirring under his head was any indication. 

"Morning." Greg ran his hand down his lover's side, delighting in the resulting satisfied sigh. "Are you comfortable? Should I move?"

Mycroft held him tighter. "Don't you dare. I rather like this arrangement."

"Me too." Greg kissed his chest. "Need to brush our teeth though. I'm not leaving this room until you are properly snogged."

"Until I am... properly snogged, did you say?"

"Yes. And who knows what that might lead to."

Since he didn't bring a toothbrush with him when he fatefully knocked on Mycroft's door, Greg improvised with toothpaste and his index finger. He laughed at Mycroft's look of horror. 

"I am quite certain I should be able to find a spare for you."

"Nah, this is fine." Greg spat out toothpaste and rinsed his mouth. "You learn to get creative when you're working a case that calls for long nights at the office." _And when you'd rather stay at work than go home,_ he added silently. He admired his grin in the mirror. "See? All clean."

"Hmm." Mycroft cleaned his own teeth and dabbed at his mouth while Greg wiped at his with his arm. "I might have to investigate your conclusion to satisfy my own curiosity."

Greg raised his eyebrows. "Don't want to take my word on it?"

Mycroft smirked. "Now what would be the pleasure in that?"

They found their way back to the bed, embracing under the covers. Their hands wandered as they kissed. Mycroft was on top this time, grinding his hips against Greg's and whispering to him. Greg shivered at the feel of Mycroft and the sound of that incredible voice whispering how much he'd wanted Greg and how good he felt. 

"God." Greg shivered again when Mycroft kissed his neck. "Any chance I can, um. I mean, if there's time..."

Mycroft stopped moving and raised an eyebrow. "Did you have something else in mind?"

"I, um. Ah...you know what? Nevermind. This is quite good, I just..."

Mycroft frowned. "Tell me."

Greg shook his head. "I don't want us to move too fast."

"It depends on what you're proposing. Are you asking if we can..." Mycroft's eyes widened and his voice trailed off. "Are you - you want to...I, um, I don't know if I have the proper supplies..."

"Christ! No, not that, not yet anyway. I, um...damn." Greg squirmed and they moved until they were laying side by side. "I had, um, a thought. A sort of...craving..."

"Craving?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow, his eyes widening again. "What would you like me to do?"

"It's more of what I'd do." Greg bit at his lower lip, feeling a bit nervous. "Can I show you? And if you don't like it, or it's too much too soon, I'll stop."

Mycroft studied him, looking nervous himself, then nodded. "I trust you."

Greg smiled and gave him a gentle kiss. "I know you do, My. And I trust you." He kissed him again, then gently pushed at his hip. "Lay down for me."

Mycroft complied, watching him with great curiosity. The other man settled on top of him, kissing him slowly, deeply, his hands wandering again. "Remember, tell me to stop if you want me to stop. I won't get mad."

Mycroft could only nod.

Greg smiled, gave him a gentle kiss, then kissed down his neck. He moved down to his chest, kissing and rubbing at his nipples, grinning when this made the other man gasp and squirm. Greg moved down further, nuzzling at the hair at the base of his cock. He kissed around Mycroft's erection, which jumped at each kiss. When Greg placed a few kisses on his testicles, Mycroft's cock jerked and a few beads of precome formed on the tip.

"Haven't even really started yet" Greg murmured. He kissed up the shaft of Mycroft's cock, giggling when it jumped enthusiastically at the attention. "You've got a moving target here."

Mycroft managed to stammer out an apology, his hands reaching down to Greg's shoulders. "I-I can't help it, you're...oh god, Gregory..."

Greg settled his arms against Mycroft's thighs, keeping his legs open as he licked playfully at the head of his cock. Mycroft's hips jolted, but were held down by Greg's hands. "Don't apologize, you sexy bastard. I love how responsive you are." He licked again at the beads of fluid coating the head of his cock and sighed. "God yes. Been craving this. Want to taste you, Mycroft. Want you suck you down and swallow you."

Mycroft's jaw dropped. "You mean..."

"Mmm, fuck yes." Greg kissed his shaft and sighed. "Fuck, you're big. Should've known, with those long fingers, long legs...mmm." He sucked a kiss to the tip of Mycroft's cock, losing himself in the taste...soft skin, a familiar saltiness...and the sounds, helpless moaning, pleading, whispers of Greg's name...

"MYCROFT!"

Both men jumped at the furious pounding on the door, and Greg instinctively ducked under the covers. 

"MYCROFT!" Sherlock sounded furious. "You must come out at once! AT ONCE!"

"Oh Christ." Greg winced as Mycroft growled and stomped to his closet, throwing on a robe and cursing. He dove back under the covers as Mycroft flung open the door.


	7. Chapter 7

This was _beyond_ unacceptable! A pleasant morning, giving way to unspeakable pleasure, his new lover caressing and enjoying his body with an incredibly erotic, _sinful_ act, only to be disturbed most egregiously by his bastard of a brother! Mycroft flung the door open, ready to throttle the skinny little miscreant. "Sherlock! You will awaken the entire household!"

Sherlock tried to elbow past him but Mycroft shoved him back. They exchanged glares, then Sherlock began to pace. "I require your assistance."

"It will wait."

"It cannot!"

"It _will._ " Mycroft's eyes burned with fury. "Now go back to your bedroom before you wake everyone."

Sherlock scoffed. "Mummy and Father are awake, as is John. Lestrade is still in his room, most likely clinging to his pillow for a semblance of human contact, as he's not been accustomed to sleeping next to another human being as of late..."

"Oh, _shut up_ " Mycroft snapped with disgust. "You are hardly a person who can ridicule others on loneliness."

"That is a preposterous notion, as loneliness indicates a yearning for companionship, which I do not have."

"Why are you bothering me?" Mycroft was ready to rip his throat out. "Explain the reasoning for your unwelcome disturbance and leave."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "I have information. It involves _you_ specifically."

"In what capacity? For God's sake, Sherlock, you are incapable of being succinct."

Sherlock's eyes widened in anger. "Perhaps I should leave you to your solitude. It certainly appears that you were in the throes of _enjoying_ yourself this morning."

Mycroft gritted his teeth. His arousal was, of course, no longer apparent, but his flushed skin and dilated pupils betrayed any semblance of calm. "I find it fascinating that you were ready to break down my door, only to vaguely hint at a justification whilst lobbying casual insults in that dull voice of yours. Tell me, brother mine, did coming home to our childhood abode cause an emotional regression into a period of time when you continuously insisted on occupying my free time? Did you wake this morning with a memory of causing a ruckus and demanding my attention as an obnoxious child, and you simply _had_ to recreate it?"

Sherlock stared at him, looking slightly stunned and hurt. Something tugged at Mycroft and he sighed. "I am supposing your launch into banshee-like behavior is the fault of one Mary Watson."

Sherlock's wounded expression quickly became furious again. "She is planning to write a brother for her Norbury detective, and not only is this brother to be far more intelligent than Norbury..."

"Hardly far from the truth..."

"And more resourceful..."

"Most fitting."

"And!" Sherlock's eyes blazed. "He is a _womanizer_!"

Mycroft frowned. "Well. That characteristic is most fictional. Kudos to her for utilizing such a fanciful imagination."

Sherlock began flailing and spewing about how this could lead to a compromise of national security once astute readers connected this fictional Huxley Lockwood to a very real Mycroft Holmes. His older brother responded with a hypothesis that the actual cause of his distress was the notion that Huxley Lockwood's popularity might surpass that of Norbury Lockwood, which only succeeded in making Sherlock's face turn red and increase his flailing and spewing. 

Mycroft relented and told Sherlock he'd take care of it, more than ready to cease this ridiculous conversation and return to the gorgeous, sexy man waiting naked in his bed. "Now please go speak to John immediately. Find a way to distract him from this, and I shall contact Mary." 

Sherlock nodded, his posture indicating a serene gratification but his eyes shone with excitement. He so seemed to enjoy a project. "I know just the thing to occupy John's mind." He turned and began to flounce away, but then paused. "Once you have made yourself decent, I think you should rouse Lestrade. I would do it, but Gerard has been known to swing at me when I wake him, and although this would be an instance of _him_ being a foreign presence in _my_ home, I do not wish to chance it." Then finally, mercifully, Sherlock was gone.

Mycroft quickly closed the door and locked it. "Thank the gods." He sighed and returned to his bed, peeking under the sheets. He was greeted by dark, warm eyes and a playful grin. 

"Gregory." Mycroft couldn't help but return his smile. "I would apologize for Sherlock, but I feel at this point we should not be surprised at his utter lack of boundaries." Mycroft cleared his throat. "If, perhaps, you would like to revisit an attempt at intimacy, I can see about procuring a bit of privacy, though I'm not sure when that might be, so...that is to say...we might..."

"You taste amazing" Gregory breathed, and lasciviously licked his lips. "I cannot wait to do that again. Your cock is _perfect_."

Mycroft's jaw dropped at the lewdness of the words while his body roused from the praise. "Gregory..."

"Get in here" the other man giggled, and Mycroft couldn't help but obey. He crawled under the covers into Gregory's awaiting arms.

"We... we're expected downstairs. I do not know how long we -" Mycroft moaned as Gregory kissed him, whimpering as their hands explored each other, settling into petting each other's hair when the kiss broke and they tried to catch their breath.

"Got to find a way to distract them, and then we can have some fun." Gregory licked his neck. "Now, be a good boy and help me out of this bed. I'll go to my room and change. I promise to try to keep my hands off myself. Do you promise the same thing?"

Mycroft nuzzled at his shoulder. "You want me to promise to...to abstain from self pleasure?"

"I want you to keep those gorgeous hands from playing with that perfect fucking cock. I'm willing to share my toys, but that's my new favorite and I want it just for me." Gregory's voice dropped to a predatory growl. "Are you going to be a good boy and do as I say?"

Mycroft shivered, his whole body feeling energized. "Yes, sir."

"Good," Gregory purred. "First thing's first...get me out of this bed before I change my mind and I suck you until you scream."

With an amount of self control that impressed even himself, Mycroft helped pull Gregory to his feet. After assisting with gathering the other man's clothing so he could get dressed and then exchanging a few more kisses, Mycroft watched Gregory flash another grin at him before he left the room. It was agony knowing they would have to abstain from comfortable affection in front of the others! They would not be able to even hold hands or embrace without an inquisition, therefore would not have a means of expressing their ardor until they were alone again. Mycroft would most certainly research to see how they could steal some time away for further instances of passion.

After changing into appropriate casual wear, Mycroft headed downstairs, where Mummy and Father were preparing breakfast and tea, and Sherlock and John were having a shouting match outside. 

Mycroft sighed and collapsed onto the couch, turning his laptop on. There were a few emails he had to read through again, some appointments to be made...

"You are completely ridiculous!" John stormed in, quickly followed by Sherlock, who looked irritated. 

"John! I am being most reasonable. If you do not see it as such, I recommend you reexamine the facts until you do."

"I recommend you examine my foot up your arse!" John hissed. "How dare you suggest that I owe you rent for when you pretended to be _dead_!"

Mycroft raised his eyes to glance at his brother, then nodded his approval. Sherlock had concocted a wonderful diversion from Mary's newest creation. This would certainly take up John's focus, enabling the Holmes brothers to ensure that they could contact Mary without John acting as a mediator. Sherlock brother did not give any obvious indication that he was affected by Mycroft's praise, but Mycroft noticed how his spine had straightened. 

Mycroft grabbed his phone to send a message to Mary when Gregory came downstairs, giving Mycroft a wink before heading into the kitchen, most likely to offer his assistance with breakfast arrangements. His help would be denied but most appreciated. 

"All right, but let me know if you change your mind," Gregory said over his shoulder to Mummy as he walked back into the living room. His gaze went immediately to Mycroft, but then looked at John, who was quietly seething by the fireplace, and Sherlock, who was glaring at a bookcase with his arms crossed. 

"Everything all right in here?" Gregory asked, getting a scoff from John in response. 

Sherlock turned his gaze to Gregory and narrowed his eyes, examining him. Gregory noticed this and sighed. "All right, Sherlock, what have you done?" Sherlock stepped forward, his eyes on Gregory's, then leaned forward into his personal space. Mycroft stood, unable to help himself as Gregory stepped back and frowned at the younger Holmes brother. "Did you just _smell_ me?" Gregory asked Sherlock incredulously.

Mycroft watched helplessly as Sherlock's eyes widened in shock for a moment. He then schooled his features and stepped back. "Lestrade, meet me outside. _Alone_." Sherlock spun on his heel, not waiting for a response, and walked briskly back outside, leaving a stunned and confused Mycroft and Gregory staring after him.


	8. Chapter 8

The cold hit Greg like a wave. He gritted his teeth, trudging after Sherlock, thankful that he had remembered to put on slippers. Sherlock hurried ahead, walking toward the aviary he inspired into creation. Greg looked wistfully back at the house, thinking of the warmth, and Mycroft, inside, and nearly walked into Sherlock. 

Greg cursed and stumbled back a bit. "Christ! Okay, why are we out here?"

Sherlock stared at him intently. A few miserable moments of silence followed, with Greg preparing himself for either a bitter takedown of Greg and Mycroft's new relationship, or a "you hurt him and I'll hurt you speech".

Or both.

Instead, Sherlock exhaled as if being in Greg's presence was extremely taxing. "Turn around."

"What? Where..."

"Towards the house!" Sherlock watched him, then walked ahead of him, staring up at the house. He walked a few feet away from Greg, then stopped and turned to glare at him. "And do not move!"

Greg watched in shock as Sherlock walked away. "Oi!" he shouted. "If you think for one bloody moment that I'm staying out here in the snow, you are out of your damned mind!"

"Kindly shut up! I am working!" Sherlock stopped, staring at him. Greg shook his head in disbelief. After a moment, Sherlock walked back and forth in front of him, looking at him, then at the house, then back. He then made his way back to Greg, walking past him into the empty aviary. Greg was about to tell him that he was going back inside when Sherlock walked back out with something concealed under his coat.

"What are you doing?" 

"Hush." Sherlock was _smiling_. It was unnerving as hell. He reached into his coat, taking out a small empty flowerpot. Greg stared as Sherlock bent down and scooped up some snow. 

"What are you..." 

Sherlock stepped forward and his smile grew as he looked Greg in the eye. "Merry Christmas."

He then poured the snow over Greg's head.

The cold made Greg shriek and flail, which caused him to fall on the ground, completely covering him with snow. Some of it went down his shirt, making him actually squeak. By the time he righted himself, Sherlock was gone. Greg stood and watched him walk into the house without a backwards glance.

Shivering violently, Greg made his own way back, opening the door to the kitchen where he was greeted by a stunned looking Mycroft.

"Good heavens! Sherlock, did you take him for a walk in the snow? Gregory does not have proper shoes!" Mycroft put his arm around his lover, guiding him to the kitchen. "Gregory, my sincerest apologies, I had thought you were just outside and had just received a rather important call...oh, but you are covered in snow...Mummy, I need a pan, or a large bowl!"

Greg moaned and leaned into Mycroft, no longer caring about how it looked or how pathetic he seemed. He was still tired, he was freezing cold and wet, and was denied sex this morning. Appearances could go to hell.

Mycroft fussed over him, seating him at the table as John and Mr. and Mrs. Holmes admonished Sherlock for bringing Greg outside, to which Sherlock replied that he'd been performing an experiment and Greg, being hopelessly clumsy, fell in the snow. 

"It was rather amusing," Sherlock noted causally, helping himself to a cookie as Mycroft took a blanket from John to wrap over Greg's shoulders. Mycroft dropped to his knees, and oh, that was a lovely sight to mentally revisit at another time. He removed Greg's cold and wet slippers and slid a pan filled with water under him. Mycroft gently lifted Greg's feet and placed them in the pan, staring up at him anxiously when Greg sighed at the feel of the warm water.

"It isn't too hot, is it? Shall I add more hot water?"

"It's f-fine." Greg's teeth were chattering, and he whimpered as Mycroft squeezed his ankles. John examined him, then declared that he'd be all right once he had a bath, a change of clothes, food, and some rest. 

Sherlock waved his hand impatiently. "He will be fine. Geoffrey may not be well enough to attend our journey out, but that is hardly a setback."

John rolled his eyes. "You could pretend to care that _Greg_..."

"One moment." Sherlock finished his cookie and strode out of the kitchen.

Mr. Holmes sighed. "Apologies, Greg. And yes, we were planning a trip out, was to be a bit of a surprise for the boys, but of course they guessed it this morning. A trip to their Alma mater, the student choir is performing carols as a benefit. Also a dinner, and...here, take another blanket...my goodness, you really fell into a deep snow pile, didn't you?"

Greg stared helplessly at him. He wanted to say what Sherlock had done, but the repercussions could be terrifying...

"Oh, my dear, take this." Mrs. Holmes handed a cup of tea to Greg, which he took with a grateful smile. "Sherlock and his experiments! I am so sorry this happened. Drink your tea, there's a good lad...as a child, he once slipped into Mycroft's room and tried to shave his head for some reason - something about seeing how flammable red hairs are - dreadful. Thankfully Mycroft stopped him, and we put a new lock on his door..."

Greg managed a smile as Mycroft rolled his eyes and stood up. "Yes, that was quite a horrific experience, Mummy, thank you for reminding me of it." He frowned and arranged the blanket around Greg's shoulders and blushed at the resulting grin. "Gregory, once breakfast is completed, I can bring you a plate, as I agree with John's assessment that you should rest after a warm bath."

John nodded. "Let's get him in warm water, and out of those wet clothes. Greg, I'm going to go upstairs and run you a bath in the guest bathroom, and put your bag in there so you can change." John patted his shoulder. "God, mate, you're an icicle."

At that moment, Sherlock strode in, talking on his phone. "Yes, thank you, that will be excellent. I do appreciate it. You as well, I am now hanging up." He hung up, looking Greg over as put his phone in his pocket. "Has he thawed yet?"

Mycroft glared at him. "He is warming up, and I want to know _exactly_ what you were -"

"OH MY GOD!"

They all paused, stunned by John's shout from upstairs. All but Sherlock, who sighed.

"My GOD, Sherlock, what is this? What have you DONE?" John sounded horrified and outraged.

Greg whimpered as the Holmes parents sighed and Mycroft seethed. Sherlock merely shrugged and sniffed the air. "Mummy, I do believe the potatoes are burning, or is that some sort of strange tuberous inspired holiday incense that I detect?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments and kudos! I really appreciate it!

Mummy and Father were attending to breakfast, Sherlock was _texting_ , and darling Gregory was shivering like a leaf in the wind while John was making noises of horror and disgust upstairs...

Oh, _why_ did Christmas have to happen, and why did it last for what seemed like an infinite time period?

Mycroft hated the idea of leaving Gregory with Sherlock, but John sounded like he was approaching a fit. Once he got to the guest bathroom, he saw why.

"Good... _God_ , is that...?"

"Yes!" John's eyes were comically large. "Yes, look at what your brother did!"

"The tub is filled with mold!"

"Yes! I know, and it's disgusting!"

"Why? Why in the name of all that is sacred!"

"Because! He is Sherlock!" John stomped out of the bathroom and shouted down the stairs. "SHERLOCK HOLMES! Get your ar-...your _self_ up here!"

Mycroft took deep breaths, trying to calm himself as his brother made his way upstairs. Sherlock was still texting, and looked up to smirk at them. "John, I hope you like your potatoes crispy. Mycroft, I'd ask you your preference, but it's food, so I'm sure you..."

"Mold!" John's eyes were wide with fury. "Sherlock..."

"Oh, yes! I am researching the digestive properties of cladosporium when it is applied to various cellulose fibers."

"You are a _disgusting_ man," Mycroft sneered. "To put this in a _guest bathroom_..."

John stepped toward Sherlock, his hands balled into fists. "You will help me clean this up."

Sherlock scoffed and put his phone in his pocket. "I have already taken the trouble of moving it from outside. The process of keeping it from freezing has been most-"

John grabbed Sherlock by the lapels of his coat. "You. Will. Help. Me. Clean. This. Up."

"Fine!" Sherlock pushed him back and glared. "I am to be without music and science! I can see now that I was meant to regress to the Dark Ages!" He spun around and stomped out of the bathroom.

"Heaven help us." Mycroft rubbed his forehead. "Oh, but Gregory..."

John groaned. "Shit. Well...do your parents have a tub in their washroom?"

"No, Mummy and Father prefer showers, as they find them more efficient."

"Ah, Greg doesn't seem fit to stand, he seems miserable. Christ, Sherlock and his experiments...hang on, you've got a washroom, yes?"

"Er." Mycroft looked up, his eyes widening. "I-I do. I have an en suite."

"Perfect! Greg can take his bath in there."

Mycroft squeaked. He could not stop himself, but oh god, the thought of Gregory...that glorious body in his tub, wet, naked...

John looked at him strangely. "That is, if you don't mind. He really needs to warm up, and..."

"No! No, it is quite all right. I shall begin preparing it immediately." Mycroft bit at his tongue to keep from smiling. "I shall take his bag as well, so that he might change afterwards." _Although he is most welcome to remain undressed in my room, my bed, so that I may..._

"Great." John glared at Sherlock, who returned with a bag filled with cleaning supplies. "Unless your brother used Greg's bag to transport his bloody mold from outside."

Sherlock smirked. "Certainly not. I used your bag."

Mycroft gaped at him while John stepped forward. "You WHAT?"

"For the love of...I am _joking_ , John. Really, you must work on developing a sense of humor." Sherlock took out a small plastic container and flapped his hand at John. "Move. I must take a sample before you destroy my work."

Father appeared in the doorway. "Oh, not again! Sherlock, this is most...oh good, you have bleach. Use detergent as well. Breakfast is almost ready but you are to clean this first, young man! John, you are welcome to come downstairs. Let Sherlock clean his own mess."

John sighed. "No, I will help him clean this, or at least get started...if I leave him alone, who knows what he'll do."

Sherlock scoffed. "I am not a child! And I'll have you know that I have been surviving quite well in my own flat without you. Observe how I am alive and able to dress myself!"

"Enough!" Father motioned to Mycroft, leading him to the hallway. "Son, we will have Greg warm himself in your tub. The poor lad keeps shivering."

"Yes, I was about to prepare the tub." Mycroft cleared his throat. "And of course, take his bag."

"Right." Father chuckled. "I am sure you do not want Greg wandering about fully naked in your bedroom!"

This time Mycroft managed to suppress a squeak. "Is he all right?"

"Oh, he will be fine. We already got some food in him, and tea. What he needs is a warm bath and some rest. It might be best that he stay here rather than join us on our trip. I can see about having a neighbor check on him while we are out." 

Mycroft's heart tugged at the thought of Gregory alone in the house. Would it be too odd for him to offer to stay and take care of him?

"Oh! And of course, here." Father handed him his phone. "This was on the table, I thought I'd return it, I know how important it is to you. It buzzed a few times on my way up here as well." 

"Right." Mycroft took the phone and put it in his pocket, then hurried to the guest room to take Gregory's bag. He would read Anthea's texts after he drew the bath. 

Luckily he did not drop the phone in the water. 

After ensuring his bedroom door was closed, Mycroft called her. "What precisely do you mean by 'a potential unprecedented catastrophe'?"

She sighed. "Well, the Prime Minister is requesting a meeting..."

"Yes, I spoke to his assistant this morning."

"No, a new one. As soon as possible."

Mycroft frowned. "And why?"

"He is in fear that the United States will declare war against Great Britain."

Mycroft's jaw dropped, then closed shut, and dropped again. "The...what..."

"Apparently their president sent him a scathing private message on Twitter after what he perceived to be a snub from the Prime Minister to the president's opulent New Year's Eve party. The message was written in all capital letters and contained quite a few exclamation points."

Mycroft managed to shuffle out of the en suite to his bed, which he sat on in shock. "Oh...oh dear..."

"Their president also managed to send private messages to both princes."

"Oh God!"

"...In them, he suggested the Royal Family was jealous of his family, and that his family was more attractive and intelligent because of his 'superior genes'. He also said rather unflattering things about the Duchess of Cambridge and the Queen herself."

"Oh GOD!"

"...He compared Her Majesty to a 'pile of trash' and said that any country that needs a Queen is 'very sad'. He also called her fat."

"Oh." Mycroft fell onto the bed, staring in shock at the ceiling. "Oh God. Help us all."

"The Queen is most displeased."

"Yes. Yes, of course."

"As are the princes. The Royal Family is requesting to speak with you personally. Also, our contacts in Washington DC are asking for you as well. Apparently the president is running through drafts of what he is calling "the tweet to end all tweets". He has considering calling for a public ban by American citizens of all things British. There have been mentions of him saying he'll "finish what George Washington started", but no one is quite sure what that actually means."

Mycroft nearly burst into tears, then took several deep breaths and stood up. "Right. Well. We have friends and allies in Washington and in the rest of the United States, this will not be undone by a single tantrum. We will remain dignified and steady in the face of ridicule and treachery. I shall call..."

"Actually," Anthea interrupted, which was a rare thing, "Her Majesty has asked, along with the Prime Minister, that you reschedule your appointments so that you can concentrate on this new development without distraction. They have suggested giving the matter a week and a half's time."

"Yes. Right."

"This will take precedence over all other matters until January 3rd, by which it is expected to have been resolved peacefully."

"Certainly." Mycroft took a deep breath. "I shall begin rescheduling all my meetings immediately. Thank you."

He opened the door to find Father leading Gregory into the room. "...And this is Mycroft's room, he has a piano, as you can see... perhaps he can play something for you during your visit."

Gregory smiled wryly. "That would be great." He shivered and looked at Mycroft. "Are you... something wrong?"

"Yes, I am afraid duty calls." Mycroft cleared his throat. "The bath is ready, I must adjourn downstairs to make preparations."

"Of course! Greg will want his privacy." Father placed his hand on his son's shoulder, walking him out to the hallway and down the stairs. "Is everything all right?"

"No, not at the moment." Mycroft straighted his spine. "I must...I must go downstairs and borrow your study, Father. I have some calls to make, and I cannot be disturbed while I make necessary preparations."

"Of course. It is _our_ study, son." Father smiled and squeezed his shoulder. "I am so very proud of you."

"Why?" Sherlock appeared, raising an eyebrow. "Did he manage not to eat his weight in breakfast foods?"

Father gave his youngest son a stern look. "That is quite enough. And Mycroft, do have something to eat before you begin your work. You need your strength to concentrate."

Mycroft waved his hand. "I am not hungry at the moment, perhaps later."

Sherlock squinted and gave his brother a tiny, mocking smile. "Mycroft Holmes, not hungry? It's a Christmas miracle!"

"Hush!" Father glared at Sherlock. "Do not think I won't make phone calls to adjust tonight's plans! I do not care what sort of presentation of honor they are planning for you, Sherlock, if you continue to misbehave I shall cancel the entire evening!"

Sherlock's eyes widened as John came up behind up, drying his hands on a small towel. "Hang on. Tonight's going to include a presentation for you, Sherlock?"

"Yes. Well, the two of us. And Mycroft is getting his own accolade, as we are favored alumni." Sherlock sighed. "It was meant to be a surprise but it was hardly concealed. But yes, along with their caroling, there is to be a presentation, dinner..." His hands waved about. "Fanfare."

"Well, that's wonderful! Wait." John looked confused. "Me as well? I didn't attend your school."

Sherlock scoffed. "A fact you keep reinforcing with your dull observations and lack of intellect. You would have been expelled within hours. But yes, you are part of the whole charade, as you are an essential part of my work, and if I must stand on a stage to be part of a tedious ceremony, you must suffer the same fate."

John grinned while Father smiled and continued to lead Mycroft away. "Oh, he knows how excited Sherlock is for this. Do not worry about anything for tonight, son. Make whatever calls you need to make, I won't have anyone disturb you."

  
•••••••••••••••••••••••  


This...was blissful.

A large tub, with _jets_ , filled blessed warmth after that awful bit with Sherlock in the snow.

Greg sighed. He supposed it was typical little brother behaviour, taking the piss out of his brother's friend - boyfriend - and sort of giving his blessing? Or was it a warning?

Christ, who could bloody tell with Sherlock?

And to know that Mycroft - gorgeous, brilliant, sexy Mycroft - used this same tub, warm water surrounding those legs, that firm arse, that glorious fucking cock...

Greg suppressed a moan. He couldn't start wanking, what if someone came in to check on him? No, he needed to focus on staying warm, and getting clean. He washed his hair, noting with a thrill that he now _smelled_ like Mycroft, and had to calm himself down again.

He was just finishing rinsing his hair when he heard a knock on the washroom wall. Greg turned, his eyes still closed, feeling around for a nearby towel. "Er...almost done! Mr. Holmes....John?" He took a deep breath, hopeful. "Mycroft?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to have the next chapter up by tomorrow*, but if not, Happy Holidays!
> 
> *Nope, this story isn't done! ;)

Mycroft took a deep breath, preparing himself. He could do this.

_Courage, Holmes._

He reached forward, then paused. _What if...?_

No. No, he had to do this. Courage, damn it! For the crown!

With shaking hands, he proceeded to open his Twitter app, and checked the U.S. president's feed. There were tweets, yes, and retweets that made him cringe, but nothing mentioning Great Britain as of yet.

He sighed in relief, allowing himself a moment to sit forward, his head in hands, before he took a deep breath and sat up. "Onward," he muttered, and checked his list to see who he needed to call next.

  
•••••••••••••••••••••••  


"Hello Gavin." Sherlock kept his gaze on his phone and texted as Greg shrieked and quickly wiped his face with a towel. "I have come to check on you."

"What the...get out of here!" Panic flooded his senses as he splashed around, trying to cover himself. "I am naked!"

"Congratulations on discovering the proper way to bathe, Lestrade."

"Why?" Greg despaired, curling himself against the side of the tub. "Why did you take me outside? Why did you pour snow on me? Why are you _here_?"

Sherlock sighed. "As I said, Gary..."

"My name is GREG!"

"Whatever...I am here to check on you." Sherlock squinted at him and gave him a curious smile. "How are you feeling, Lestrade?"

"Bloody terrified!" Greg glared at him. "Now get out! If I'm meant to go with you to this thing tonight, it would be best if I didn't die of a heart attack beforehand!"

"Hmm." Sherlock frowned at poked at his phone. "How much do you weigh?"

Greg stared at him. "...What?"

"You don't have any unusual symptoms?" Sherlock prodded.

"Symptoms..." Greg suddenly thought back to earlier, when he ate some bangers and potatoes, and Sherlock handed him more tea... "Oh God. No."

Sherlock's phone buzzed, signaling a text, and he chuckled. "Oh, this is lovely."

"You drugged me!"

"One moment." Sherlock typed a reply and smiled, satisfied with himself. "Mmhmm."

"Sherlock." Greg swallowed hard. "Sherlock, listen to me. Me and your brother..."

"Ha! Oh, this is too good." Sherlock read his latest text, then looked up at Greg. "I do suggest you get out of that tub, Lestrade. The sooner the better."

"Sherlock." Greg realized he was using his 'put down the gun and we'll talk' voice. "Sherlock, tell me what you gave me. I don't..." He yawned. "I don't..." Greg blinked, suddenly feeling exhausted. "I..."

"Excellent!" Sherlock grinned. "At last, Lestrade. Now, get up. Can't have you drowning, after all. It's almost Christmas."

Greg hugged the tub. "Naked!"

"Yes, and I am not interested in seeing anything, so quickly, Lestrade. Up! Get up and dry yourself." Sherlock turned and texted while Greg managed to get out of the tub, drying himself quickly and padding toward Sherlock.

"Gonna...arrest you when..." Greg yawned, unable to help himself. Christ, but he was bloody tired. "When I'm back at work."

Sherlock snorted. "That won't be for a while, and by then I'll be forgiven." He reached toward Greg, wiggling his fingers impatiently. "Come on. Off to bed with you."

Greg took his arm and shuffled toward Mycroft's bed. "Not my room....Tired. Where... pyjamas..."

Sherlock motioned by the bed. "My brother brought your bag up. You can change later if you wish."

"Naked!"

"You are currently clothed in a towel. How very typical of you, Lestrade, not to see crucial details." Sherlock pulled back the sheets and smirked as Greg climbed in and sighed. "To answer your earlier question, I did in fact put something in your tea. You've had a very mild dose of diphenhydramine. You will be asleep for approximately an hour, give or take. You will have no adverse side effects as you have taken it before. I noted some sleep aids in your medicine cabinet the last time I was in your flat." Sherlock was... _tucking him in_. "Also, there is food downstairs, and no, I have not dosed anything else. You are safe." Sherlock's phone buzzed and he glanced at it, sighing. "Oh, god. Dimmock is an utter _imbecile_."

Greg pulled the sheets over his shoulders. "Not nice."

"I do not care if he is _nice_...."

"You!"

"Well." Sherlock smirked. "You may rethink that later. But I am correct about Dimmock. How does the man manage to _dress_ himself?" His phone buzzed again, and he smiled. "Good. It's all sorted now. He is still an idiot."

Greg nuzzled against the pillow. "Sleep."

"Indeed you will." Sherlock reached a hand out and snapped his fingers. "Towel. You will dampen the sheets, otherwise."

After yawning again, Greg handed him the towel and wriggled a bit. "Really naked now."

"Ugh." Sherlock grimaced and took the towel to the bathroom. When he returned Greg was nearly dozing and still writhing around under the sheets. "UGH!"

Greg giggled sleepily. "Soft."

" _Stop._ You are being revolting. Go to sleep. Mycroft is downstairs..."

Greg moaned, nuzzling against the pillows, breathing in their now familiar smell. " _Mycroft..._ "

"UGH! Stop!" Sherlock waved a hand at him. "Not in front of me, please. Rest, damn you. We are leaving soon. And my brother...stop moving like that! Disgusting...he is downstairs. He is too busy to attend tonight's presentation."

"Gonna sleep now."

"Yes, finally." Sherlock grinned, and patted his friend's shoulder. "Merry Christmas, Greg."

  
•••••••••••••••••••••••  


"... Therefore we shall meet on January 3rd, the usual location, to discuss the recent election, as well as anything else you deem pertinent. Yes, you as well. Próspero año nuevo." Mycroft hung up and sighed, rubbing his forehead. He gathered his courage and checked Twitter for what felt like the hundredth time. No new tweets.

Someone had stood outside the study a few minutes ago and pressed against the door - leaving a note, perhaps? Mycroft knew he would probably have to abstain from going to tonight's function, but that did not distress him. Sherlock, for all his protest, was more inclined to enjoying public demonstrations of gratitude and praise. 

Therefore Mycroft would stay, and continue his essential work, while Gregory rested upstairs. While an evening alone with the Detective Inspector would normally be a thrilling notion that Mycroft wouldn't dare entertain unless he was at home in complete privacy, tonight was not to be a setting for romance. 

Finally, after what seemed like hours, all previous meetings and appointments were rescheduled, allotting what should suffice as a workable timeframe to soothe any and all wounds for all involved parties. 

He stood from the desk with a sigh and rubbed his eyes. Perhaps after calling Anthea, he would have a belated breakfast. Something sweet as well. Mycroft felt it was most deserved. 

Upon opening the door, he discovered that there was a note affixed to it - Mummy and Father stating that they had left with Sherlock and John, but could send a car to pick him up if he still wanted to attend tonight's festivities. Unlikely, after the morning he had. No, today he would be working. 

A bit of sweet would be most welcome indeed. Luckily there was bread and butter pudding in the fridge. Mycroft set it on the counter, and raised an eyebrow when he noticed a small bright yellow note taped to the side of the pan. In familiar handwriting, it said "Typical. Read before eating all the pudding."

Mycroft sighed, cutting himself a modest portion of pudding and ate it slowly. Sherlock's note would most certainly contain fat jokes and whatever else he deemed amusing. Though he was never in the mood to listen to his brother's insults, today he was even less inclined to hear them. 

After he placed his plate and cutlery into the dishwasher and returned the pudding to the fridge, Mycroft opened the note with a sigh. 

_Mycroft,_

_Well, it's Christmas. As you know. We haven't often exchanged gifts, but tonight is meant to be a celebration of our contributions. You hardly need a gluttonous buffet of foods or a medal, so perhaps something you desperately need will be more appropriate?_

_Enjoy. Merry Christmas, brother._

_\- SH_

_P.S. - Try to abstain from actually eating all the pudding.  
_

Mycroft frowned. What the devil was Sherlock up to?

His phone buzzed. Anthea was calling. "Sir? Are your appointments rescheduled?"

"Yes. The Royal Family will have my undivided attention from now until January 3rd. If more time is needed, I will make further arrangements."

"Did you have any trouble rescheduling your meetings?"

"Not at all. Most of our contacts were pleased to have time with their loved ones during the holidays."

"Indeed" Anthea purred. "By the way, your package should be arriving very shortly."

Mycroft smiled. "Excellent." He looked out the front door where indeed, one of his personal couriers was walking toward the house. 

"You need to open it immediately."

Mycroft narrowed his eyes as he opened the door, taking the package and nodding his thanks at the courier, who smiled and tipped his hat before leaving. "I will open it soon, but..."

"Immediately would be best, sir."

Mycroft scoffed. "I have far more pressing matters to tend to _immediately_..."

"You don't, actually."

Mycroft's jaw dropped. "I beg your pardon?"

"There is no current issue. There were no private messages. Sorry for the scare, sir. But there are other things you should be working on. Which is why you do need to open the package immediately." Anthea paused. "Merry Christmas, sir."

For a while Mycroft listened to the dial tone in shock. After a moment he set his phone down and opened the package. There was Sherlock's violin, carefully packaged as expected, along with high quality rosin and blank sheet music. Mycroft supposed it was in fact Sherlock's own fault that he'd forgotten his violin, but he knew how his brother hated not being able to play music. A few simple phone calls to Mrs. Hudson and his own associates took care of that. Plus a few simple gifts, which were nothing, really. It wasn't like it was difficult to obtain them...

There was a small package wrapped in bright blue in the corner of the box. Mycroft took it out, then unwrapped it quickly. Inside was a note from Anthea: _You deserve happiness, Mycroft Holmes._

When he lifted the note, his eyes widened.

  
•••••••••••••••••••••••  


Sherlock sat in the back of Father's car and read Anthea's latest text with a chuckle. Her cleverness was quite welcome, after having to deal with Dimmock. The idiot hadn't wanted to take Lestrade's holiday shifts, but Anthea had persuaded him. Now everything was set.

John looked over at him and smirked. "Got yourself a girlfriend?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Really, John?"

"Boyfriend?"

"Shut up." Sherlock pursed his lips. "By the way, you are not expected to give a speech tonight. I know this will devastate you, as you so dearly love the sound of your own voice."

"Ha! Pot, meet kettle." John snickered. "I'm glad you have another friend. And no, I'm not jealous."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Idiot."

  
•••••••••••••••••••••••  


Greg opened his eyes and stretched. He felt rested, warm...

"Good afternoon."

He turned and grinned to see Mycroft sitting on the edge of the bed, holding something in his hand. Mycroft was smiling, and looked a bit mischievous. 

Greg sat up, feeling giddy. "Hey you. You didn't go with them?"

"No, I was working. It's all settled now, and I don't need to attend to anything further. That is, nothing work related." Mycroft stood and began undoing his cufflinks, an action which made Greg's eyes darken with lust. He walked closer to the bed, smirking, and Greg couldn't help but lick his lips. Good god, but Mycroft was so sexy...

"So." Greg took a deep breath as he watched the other man begin to unbutton his shirt. "You...don't need to work today."

"No." Mycroft leaned over and plucked the small package he'd been holding and held it out to Greg. 

"What's this?" Greg read Anthea's note, which made him smile. 

What he saw underneath made him gasp.

Two blindfolds, a dizzying array of condoms, lube, silk sashes... _for tying each other up_ , Greg realized, feeling dizzy. Good god...

"I do believe," Mycroft purred, continuing to unbutton his shirt, "that you and I are meant to be each other's Christmas gift."

Greg ran his hand over their treasures and licked his lips. He was already hard, and Mycroft's striptease was only making him ache. "Well then..." He looked up and grinned as Mycroft undid the last button on his shirt. "You'd better get in here, Mycroft Holmes," he purred, and pulled back the sheets.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's reading this! Yes, there will be more. New Year's approaches...

_**I require your assistance.** _

_\- Well, hello, Sherlock._

_**You are aware of the...thing between my brother and Inspector Lestrade?** _

_\- ...Thing._

_**My brother is unaware of how smitten Lestrade is with him. I do not know how this escapes his observations. Lestrade is also guilty of not seeing how my brother gazes at him as if he were made of Jaffa cakes.** _

_\- Is that meant to be funny?_

_**John would think so.** _

_\- You are quite interested in what Dr. Watson thinks, aren't you?_

_**John is my work partner and he recognizes my intellect. I want to discuss my brother. He is in dire need of coitus.** _

_**My brother, not John.** _

_**Needs sexual release.** _

_**John is getting regular sexual release from Mary, which makes him less irritable.** _

_**Mycroft is in need of sexual release. With Lestrade. Preferably soon.  
** _

_\- Are you attempting to act as the Inspector's pimp?_

_**PIMP?!?!** _

_\- Sexual manager?_

_**You are mocking me.** _

_\- Oh yes._

_**Don't. Lestrade is here for the Christmas weekend. It is an opportune time for them to engage in sexual activity.** _

_**Are you there?** _

_**Respond.** _

_\- Why have you made this a priority?_

_**Lestrade's lost puppy look when he is around my brother is most nauseating. Mycroft is...Mycroft. I believe it would be beneficial to many people if they yielded to their carnal desires. Including you.** _

_**Would it not be easier to work with a happier Mycroft Holmes who engages in regular sexual activity?** _

_\- I don't find it difficult to work for your brother._

_****He is lonely.** ** _

_\- Are you quite certain?_

_****Don't insult me. It is obvious. I think he would be fine if it wasn't for Graham being very...Grahamy.** ** _

_\- Now I can say that I don't know what exactly you are talking about._

_****I am not talking, I am texting. I am not currently speaking.** ** _

_****I am referring to my brother's need for sexual activity from Lestrade!** ** _

_****Mycroft apparently finds him irresistible and his efforts to ignore his own attraction is irritating!** ** _

_****They are quite enamored of each other and are unaware of it. It is causing them unnecessary stress, which causes ME unnecessary stress, which is unacceptable.** ** _

_****Are you going to help me or not?** ** _

_\- What's the plan, then?_

_******** _

  
•••••••••••••••••••••••  


Mycroft crawled into his bed and on top of Gregory, his mind still racing through the day's events, but everything stopped when he gently took Gregory's face in his hands and kissed him. The other man sighed, letting his hands wander over Mycroft's back, then to his chest. Gregory pulled at his shirt and Mycroft sat back, letting Gregory push his shirt over his shoulders.

"One moment" Mycroft murmured, and completely removed his shirt, quelling the sharp burst of panic at revealing his stomach. The look of lust in Gregory's eyes was _incredibly_ flattering, and oh, Gregory's jaw actually dropped. He was _pleased_.

"My god." Gregory shivered. "I didn't really get to look last night but oh God...Mycroft. Mycroft... fuck, you are sexy." He shivered again and ran his hands over Mycroft's chest, making them both gasp. 

"I want to take my time with you," Gregory whispered. "I want to enjoy everything with you. I want everything. Tell me what you want. Tell me what you want me to do. Anything you want, My. _Anything._ "

Mycroft shivered at the nickname and the declaration. His mind reeled with the possibilities. Gregory moaned as Mycroft rolled his hips against his, and sighed when Mycroft leaned down to capture him in another deep kiss.

"I want everything as well," Mycroft whispered when he was able to tear himself away, and nuzzled at Gregory's neck. "I want everything with you."

Gregory shivered. He ran his hands down Mycroft's back. "Then what do you want to do first?"

Mycroft considered it, then smiled and sat up, reaching for their supplies. "Let me show you."

  
•••••••••••••••••••••••  


****

**_A change of plans is required._**  


_\- You want to negotiate a higher asking price for your prize stallion?_

__

_**Shut up. We must accelerate the plan. They have already revealed their affection for each other and were engaged in a form of coitus this morning.** _

_\- I am most curious to know why you know this. Did you get an eyeful?_

__

__

_**Lestrade smelled of sweat and Mycroft's soap. Also my brother was clearly...oh. Oh no.** _

\- _Is there a problem?_

__

__

_**I think I might have interrupted them this morning when I went to Mycroft's room. Oh... disgusting. I must delete it.** _

_**I'm back. Also I have started without you.** _

\- _Started what, precisely?_

__

__

_**Greg will not be attending a most dull function meant for myself and my brother tonight. Find a way to keep Mycroft here as well. Create a diversion.** _

_\- A false alarm?_

_**Precisely. You can do that, yes?** _

\- _I can do a great many things, Sherlock._

_**Good! Be useful to me.** _

- _I am doing this for your brother. He deserves to be happy._

_\- I am taking your lack of response as agreement._

\- _Does the Inspector have plans for New Year's?_

_**No. Unless you count being alone in his flat surrounded by empty food cartons as plans.** _

- _Hmm..._

**_Hmm indeed._**

_**I might even add to the surprise.**_

_**Yes...I have an idea. I will contact you if I need further assistance.** _

_**I will be ignoring my phone for a bit. Ceremony.** _

_**John says hi.  
**_


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter is pure smut. Feel free to skip it if you'd like. :)

Greg watched with wide eyes as his lover tied him to the headboard. The silk sashes felt divine, just like the soft sheets he lay on top of, under Mycroft's smooth skin. He leaned up for a kiss while Mycroft secured the knots. Mycroft returned the kiss, gently pushing Greg's head back so he was resting against the pillows. 

"Relax" he whispered. "I want to...enjoy you."

Greg laughed with pure delight. How did he get this lucky? "God...you're incredible." He stretched and tugged against the sashes. They didn't give. "Mmm...well. What did you have in mind?"

Mycroft smiled. It was a knowing smile, one that usually meant the other person was in trouble. Somehow, Greg got even harder. "I don't want to spoil the surprise" Mycroft purred. "But I fully intend to give you a most memorable experience."

Greg felt his heart race as Mycroft shed the rest of his clothing and pick up one of the bottles of lube. 

"I will admit to being unaccustomed to this brand" he said, uncapping it. He poured a generous amount into his palm and recapped the bottle with a smile. "I do use lubricant on myself when I succumb to self-pleasure, but never anything that claims to taste of vanilla cake." He smirked and circled his hand around Greg's cock, starting to gently stroke him. 

Greg moaned and lifted his hips into the touch. "Fuck...Mycroft..."

"You've already proven yourself as a man who loves to taste things" Mycroft continued in that silky, sinful voice. "Would you like to be my royal taster?" He took his hand off Greg and placed a lube covered finger on Greg's lips, inhaling sharply when Greg eagerly sucked it into his mouth and moaned. "Gregory..."

"Mmm." It did taste like vanilla cake. Greg made a mental note to use this lube on Mycroft when it was his turn to get tied up. Then he felt Mycroft's tongue lap at his cock and all thought left his mind. "Mmm...yeah..."

Mycroft sat back with a smirk and patted Greg's hip with his dry hand. "Lift up."

Greg obeyed, watching his lover take a spare pillow and place it underneath him. Mycroft patted his hip again and he lowered himself back down. Mycroft slicked his lube covered hand over Greg's testicles, making him moan helplessly. His hand moved lower, caressing in between his arse. 

"Oh god" Greg whispered, and spread his legs eagerly. "Please...yes..."

"Mmm." Mycroft kissed him, then moved down and settled in between Greg's thighs. He kissed the tip of his cock, sighing when this made Greg curse and strain against the sashes. Mycroft kissed down his shaft, giving him little flicks of his tongue. He flattened his tongue against the root of Greg's cock and slowly moved it up, tasting the flavored lube and Greg's skin. 

"Oh fuck, that's...oh god." Greg began panting when Mycroft got to the head of his cock, swiping under the head with long, sweeping licks. "Fuck... fuck..."

Mycroft tasted salt and drew back, noting the drops of fluid forming on the head of his cock. "Enjoying yourself?" he asked loftily. 

"Fuck yes." Greg laughed and winked at him. "Obvious, isn't it?"

Mycroft chuckled. "I haven't really begun."

"Christ." Greg grinned and opened his legs wider. "I'm ready for whatever you gave planned."

This made Mycroft chuckle again. "You're not, not yet." He leaned down again to suck Greg's testicles into his mouth, reveling in the moans this produced. He flicked his tongue between them, then lower, until he reached Greg's entrance. Mycroft kissed around it, making the other man jump at the sensation. "Is this all right?" he murmured.

"Y-yes, please...M-Mycroft..." Greg's head lolled against the pillow as he became lost in pleasure. The soft, wet feel of Mycroft's tongue against him made him whimper. Greg's whimpers turned to moans as that talented tongue began to run soft circles around him, the tip poking at the ring of muscle. He tried to relax more and took deep breaths, lifting his knees and tilting his hips up. Greg heard and felt Mycroft moan. He muttered something that sounded like praise and then the soft but insistent feel of his tongue was back. The pointed tip began to push inside, wriggling around in a way that made Greg's toes curl. Mycroft moaned and kept going, soft wetness twisting and turning and making the muscles around it shiver. 

"Oh god oh my god oh f-fuck..." Greg felt his cock jerk as Mycroft's tongue explored inside him, giving him exploratory licks. Greg's thighs began shaking. No one had ever done this to him before. A couple of boyfriends in uni had played with him a bit, kissing and licking at his arse, but never tasting him inside. 

Mycroft grunted, wrapping his arms around his waist as he continued to work his tongue inside him. He liked this, Greg realized. It made him wonder if Mycroft had done this before. He certainly had a talent for it - Greg was so hard he was aching. The thought made him a bit jealous, but then Mycroft started moving his tongue around rapidly and Greg's hips jumped forward and he heard himself mutter nonsense. His cocked jumped, leaking a few drops of precome.

Mycroft growled and did it again, moving that wicked tongue around and curling it. Greg let his head fall back. His jaw dropped as his cock twitched again, a few drops of precome dripping onto his stomach. 

Rapid movements, back and forth, up and down. Greg's hips kicked forward each time. He found himself making noises he'd never made before. Long slender fingers clutched at his arse, bringing it closer to Mycroft's mouth. More rapid movements, this time with a pull to get that tongue in deeper. Greg jolted with the sensations and felt himself get so hard he was aching. "I.. _haahh...unnnhh...I...nnnNNN!_ " His hips bucked wildly as Mycroft began growling, sending vibrations in his sensitive hole. Greg's eyes rolled and he felt his cock jerk. "I...I'm going to come...oh god, I'm..."

Suddenly that incredible tongue was gone and Greg whined, squirming uncontrollably. He imagined the feel of those beautiful hands caressing him, soothing him, and whined again.

"Not yet," Mycroft admonished. He took a handkerchief off the night stand and wiped at his mouth, then smiled. "As I said before, I have not truly begun yet."

Greg swallowed and stared at him in shock. "What are you...are you going to..."

Mycroft gently shushed him and stroked Greg's sides. Every touch made Greg shudder, wanting more.

"Breathe." 

Greg closed his eyes and obeyed, willing his body to calm down. He ached for release. It was clear Mycroft wasn't going to let him come until he was finished playing with him. The thought made him ache, and he had to take a few more deep breaths to calm himself down a bit.

"Yes...not yet, my dear. Breathe." Mycroft moved his touch to his lover's chest. Those long, slender fingers lovingly stroked his muscles, making Greg silently thank himself for all the times he convinced himself to run or play football. "Perfect" he whispered. 

Greg's chest swelled from the praise. He growled, which prompted a slight gasp from Mycroft. 

"I'm yours." Greg lifted his hips and rested his thighs against Mycroft's shoulders. "All yours." He rolled his hips. "Play with me. I'm yours."

Mycroft exhaled, then rested his head against Greg's stomach. The sashes prevented Greg from stroking his hair, making him hiss in frustration. 

"You have no idea..." Mycroft licked at Greg's nipples, giving them gentle sucks and kisses. "I am going to make you scream, Inspector." He smirked, then kissed his way down Greg's stomach. 

"Mmm..." Greg closed his eyes once Mycroft reached his cock, giving it long, slow licks. "Fuck yes. Feels fucking amazing."

"Hmm?" Mycroft kissed at the tip. "How about...now?" He then sucked the tip of Greg's cock past his lips, slowly lowering his mouth. His mouth stretched, taking in Greg's impressive girth. Mycroft moaned, sending little vibrations around the sensitive skin. 

" _Fuck_." Greg looked down, watching himself disappear into his lover's mouth. People had done this for him before, men and women, but none of them seemed to relish in it like Mycroft was. Greg knew he was thick, not impossibly so, but he'd had plenty of lovers complain about it. Some of the people he dated didn't even like going down on him for that reason. Greg was patient and didn't whinge about it - he couldn't exactly help it, could he? - but he'd always wished for a lover who would really get off on his size, enjoy it for themselves.

Mycroft was definitely that lover. He moaned around Greg's cock, moving his lips down easily thanks to the lube and the fluid leaking from the tip. Mycroft swallowed, the feel of the suction and his mouth tightening made Greg gasp. He did it again, and again.

"Oh fuck." Greg arched his back as Mycroft began to lick, and _suck..._ "Oh god..." That tongue was flicking against him. It was going to be his undoing, that tongue. Greg panted as Mycroft moved up and down on his cock, licking, sucking greedily...

He was going to come. Greg could feel his body start to prepare for orgasm. His heart pounded. His cock jerked against Mycroft's tongue, dripping precome all over it. His legs began shaking, his balls started to tighten...

Mycroft withdrew immediately and wrapped his fingers around his base, squeezing. "Not yet."

Greg grunted and tried to thrash around, but Mycroft was half on top of him. "Come _on_ " he growled, but Mycroft only smiled.

"I told you." A soft kiss where the head of his cock met his shaft made Greg mutter nonsense. Mycroft smiled and watched him carefully, them released his grip. "Not until I say."

_Breathe._ Greg rested his head back on the pillow and concentrated on inhaling, exhaling, anything but what his body was feeling. The pale white of the ceiling...the sound of wind outside. Sounded like a storm was approaching. _Breathe_.

"Good," Mycroft whispered. "Very good." He gave his stomach a gentle kiss. "You're doing so well. Almost there. Breathe."

Greg wanted to ask Mycroft if he'd done this before, but couldn't speak. He seemed to regress to only sounds - moans, growls, sighs. He closed his eyes, listening as Mycroft opened the bottle of lube again - briefly he wondered if he'd ever smell vanilla cake again without getting hard - then heard him squeeze a generous amount of the liquid. The snap of the bottle being closed made his heart pound. Greg kept his eyes closed and breathed deeply, trying to prepare himself for whatever happened next. _Inhale. Exhale._

"Very good." Mycroft settled lower, and Greg felt his breath against his inner thigh. "Relax. I won't ever hurt you. I adore you, Gregory."

Greg opened his eyes and took in a shaking breath. He wanted to tell him the same thing, and that he trusted Mycroft completely. He'd done everything that was asked of him by Mycroft since they'd met, sometimes grudgingly, but always listened to him. It wasn't just because of his affection toward him. Mycroft was the most clever person he'd ever met. Also, he was kind, even if others didn't want to see that. He was powerful. Sexy. Incredibly handsome. Greg had been swept away by Mycroft for years. And now...

"You are beautiful," Mycroft whispered, and kissed Greg's hip. "So beautiful. So clever. The most generous and patient man I've ever known. This is an _honor_ , Gregory." 

Greg could only murmur and writhe on the bed. 

"I want to make you happy." Mycroft kissed his stomach and ran his fingers down Greg's hip, his leg, his inner thigh. "I want to give you the most incredible pleasure you have ever had. I want to be the cause of it." Mycroft moved lower, his breath tickling Greg's inner thigh. He ran his wet finger over Greg's perineum, gently tracing circles over the sensitive skin.

"I have watched you. You know that, don't you? How often I've watched you. All that time...I felt I was slipping, that you'd say something about it - that you'd catch me looking. All this time you thought my interest was strictly professional." Mycroft moved his hand so that his fingertips began to press harder, broader circles and patterns. Greg's entire body began shaking. Dimly he was aware of the gasps and whimpers he was making, but he was far beyond caring. 

"I wanted you. I wanted to touch you. I wanted to kiss you. I wanted you unlike I'd ever wanted anything or anyone." Mycroft's fingers dipped lower, pressing against his hole. Greg was still wet from saliva, and the lube allowed Mycroft to easily slip the tip of his finger inside.

Greg drew in a sharp breath and spread his legs further apart. He was fully open now, offering himself to his lover. Mycroft murmured something under his breath and pressed forward, his finger sliding forward. Greg's body eagerly welcomed him, taking in his finger as it nudged gently inside. Mycroft felt around, familiarizing himself with the feel of Greg as he listened to the man coming apart as Mycroft explored. 

Twice. Mycroft had made Greg come close to climax twice. He needed release, and Mycroft would let him have it.

"Darling" Mycroft whispered, pulling out slightly and then adding another finger. Greg began moaning helplessly, his hips rolling up to take in the penetration. Mycroft took a deep breath, his own body aching for release. His own needs would have to wait just a little bit longer. 

His lips kissed along Greg's cock, and his tongue darted out to taste him. Greg made pleading noises that turned into cries of pleasure when Mycroft sucked his length into his mouth. 

Mycroft closed his eyes, swallowing a few times, then began moving his head in a quick bobbing motion.

Greg shouted, then began shaking and panting. Mycroft felt around inside him, looking for the spot that would drive him over the edge completely. His fingers curled and found Greg's prostate.

Greg screamed and drove his hips up, pushing his cock deep into Mycroft's mouth, and finally came. He was nearly convulsing as he pulsed into warm suction, coming harder than he ever had before. His muscles clenched around Mycroft's fingers as they teased his most sensitive spot. The noises coming out of him were animalistic, growling in pure list as he began to come down from an incredible orgasm. 

Dimly Greg was aware of Mycroft slipping off and out of him, and crawling forward to untie his arms. Greg muttered something nonsensical and reached for his lover, who was trembling with his own need for release. Mycroft moaned at his touch and began rutting against his sweat and semen covered skin. Greg moaned softly as he felt Mycroft shudder and climax on top of him.

"Gregory...oh god..." Mycroft moaned into his neck and shivered. 

"You're perfect" Greg murmured, and drifted into sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

They woke up later that afternoon, tangled in each other. Mycroft got up to grab a wash cloth and cleaned then both up, and gave Greg one of his dress robes to wear.

"You sure?" Greg slipped on the black silk garment with an ornate gold damask and shivered. "Christ, this is lovely. Probably cost more than my car. I can just put my clothes back on..."

Mycroft leaned in and kissed at his neck. "No need to get fully dressed" he purred, delighting in how this made Greg shiver again. "Besides, I quite like the look of it on you. You may keep it, if you wish."

"What? No! Myc..."

Mycroft silenced him with another kiss. "Downstairs with you, Gregory. No arguments today."

"We'll come back to it then" Greg said stubbornly. "Myc, you don't need to give me your things."

"It's _Mycroft_ , I'll have you know. And have you not considered that I find the idea of you wearing something of mine tantalizing?" Mycroft ran his hand up and down Greg's sides, smiling as this made his lover sigh and step closer. "This dark silk on your skin, taking in the scent of you..."

"My scent?"

"Every person has their own chemical makeup. Your skin has its own lovely scent, highlighted by your choices in cologne, aftershave, soap, and deodorant. I can assure you that when your skin is flushed during and after physical activity, the aroma is quite intoxicating."

"Good god." Greg laughed and wrapped his arms around the other man. "Only you could make something sound scientific and sexy." He took his lover's hands and squeezed them. "Let's go get some food, you amazing man."

Mycroft smiled and let himself be led downstairs. Once in the kitchen, he took out some plates and began gathering utensils. "There are quite a few options for a small meal, so please take whatever you'd like."

"I'm famished" Greg announced, rooting through the fridge. "There's some roast beef and potatoes...some trifle too."

"You may finish the trifle, as I've eaten some of the bread pudding for breakfast, and I certainly don't need to add more sugar to...Ahh!" Mycroft jumped and stared at a snickering Greg. "Did you just..spank me?"

"Yes." Greg smirked while he heated up the food. "No need for any of that "I'm on a diet" talk, My. You're gorgeous and sexy and it's bloody Christmas! Enjoy yourself."

Mycroft smiled at that. "Perhaps I might indulge a bit."

"Good." Greg brought the food to the table. "As your Christmas present, I insist on indulgence."

Mycroft blushed as Greg sat next to him. "I must obey, then."

They began eating in a comfortable silence, broken by Greg's soft chuckle. "Just thought of the first time I met Sherlock. He suggested that I go for a walk in the Thames if I was to continue to indulge in being useless."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "That does sound like him."

"Cheeky brat." Greg glanced at him. "What about you?"

"I can assure you that I have no wish to see you in the Thames."

Greg laughed. "That's good, but I meant it's your turn. Tell me about the first time you met Sherlock." He watched as his lover's face relaxed, and his eyes took on a serene fondness. It was beautiful.

"I was seven, and was informed that my little brother had arrived. He was, not surprisingly, a fussy infant. I recall stepping into the hospital room and seeing Mummy hold this screaming bundle. She was exhausted, but smiling. Father had his hand on my shoulder. I was curious...I walked up and looked down at this tiny being, and...I knew I could alleviate his unrest. I didn't say anything, but took him in my arms, with Mummy's help of course...and Sherlock began to calm down a bit. He opened his eyes and looked at me." Mycroft smiled, lost in his memory. "Sometimes he still gives me that wonderous, curious look."

Greg smiled and put his hand on Mycroft's leg. The other man froze at first then relaxed.

"Sorry" they both said, then shared a chuckle as they finished their lunch. 

"I am...not accustomed to..." Mycroft motioned between them.

"Yeah. Me neither, not in a while." Greg gave his lover a worried look. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"No! Truly, I..." Mycroft blushed. "I...I like it when you touch me."

Greg squeezed his leg and grinned. "Good. Keep eating, My. After I get my strength up, I'm going to have some more fun with you."

Before Mycroft could react, his phone buzzed. He picked it up and smiled at the message. "Oh, that's clever." He chuckled. "Mary is a creative woman, that is certain."

"Oh! Right. You were going to talk to her about your character so Sherlock wouldn't be stroppy." Greg picked up their now cleared plates, ignoring Mycroft's pleas to leave the mess to him, and headed to the sink. "What did you tell her, then? Is she changing your character?"

"I sent her a message this morning informing her that Sherlock was concerned about potential overshadowing, and to please make Huxley Lockwood less of a tantalizing character than Norbury Lockwood. She had promised to consider it, and I was going to send another message when the Prime Minister's assistant called to arrange a future meeting. But apparently, she has decided to make Huxley obese and lazy." Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "I wonder if I am to be offended."

Greg snorted. "It's far from the truth, so I'd say no." He smiled to himself and began spooning trifle into bowls for the both of them. "I remember meeting Mary for the first time. She was quite charming and funny. Kept making Harry Potter references."

Mycroft stretched, not noticing how Greg looked him over, appreciating the brief view of his exposed stomach. "I suppose I should read that series. She kept saying I reminded her of Snape, whatever that is."

"Mmm. I can see that." Greg let his eyes wander over Mycroft's body. _Damn._ "Alan Rickman plays him in the movies. I've always had a bit of a thing for him."

Mycroft sat up, interested. "Oh? I am not familiar with the name." 

"Yeah." Greg licked his lips. "You remind me of him, a little."

"Interesting." Mycroft poked at his phone and scoffed. "I do not resemble this man."

"In manner, you do. Elegant. Sexy." Greg brought over the dessert and placed a bowl in front of him. "Eat up. You'll need your strength for what I have planned today."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Do tell."

"No spoiling my surprises." Greg gave his lover a quick kiss on the cheek and began eating. "All right, first meeting with Mary, she was charming. How about John?"

"The first time I met him?" Mycroft smirked and began eating his dessert. "He was angry. I frightened him."

Greg snorted. "Did that "kidnapping to the warehouse" bit, did you? You did that to me as well."

"Mmm, you were angry as well, but not frightened. You threatened to put me in handcuffs." Mycroft licked at his spoon.

Greg watched him and put his hand back on Mycroft's leg. "That threat still stands, you know" he growled.

Mycroft choked a bit, then gathered himself. "Well. Ah. Yes. Ahem. Er...John. He was...under the impression that I was a criminal mastermind."

"Good god." Greg laughed. "Well, you are a politician, love."

_Love._ Mycroft felt a surge of hope and nervousness. It was the second time Gregory had used that term of affection. Surely he didn't mean it... "Well. Yes, I am that. And yes, John was most... unnerved."

"I remember meeting John. Wondering who the fuck he was, why this extra person was at my crime scene, what was he doing with Sherlock." Greg smirked. "He gave me hell later, at their flat."

Mycroft's eyes narrowed at the memory. "Ah, yes. Your drug bust."

Greg noticed Mycroft's tone and eyed him nervously. "You're still angry about that" he said carefully.

Mycroft pursed his lips and stared down at his now empty bowl. "As I understand, my brother was withholding evidence."

"Right."

"Of course, this was unacceptable." He stood, taking his bowl to the kitchen. "You could say he was abusing his privileges."

"Yeah."

Mycroft stared down at the sink, his irritation rising. "And you responded with a rather flamboyant demonstration of your own privileges." 

"Wait, are you serious?" Greg got up and stood next to him. "Your brother gets away with all sorts of shit with _my_ cases. He fucking had evidence in his flat!"

"You employed officers who had a personal vendetta against my brother..."

"That's everyone!"

Mycroft gave him a cold stare. It was heartbreakingly familiar. "Do you realize what happens when my brother reaches his breaking point? He breaks, Detective Inspector."

Gregory's eyes widened at the use of his title in lieu of his name. He looked gutted. "Mycroft. That's not...this was ages ago. Your brother..."

Mycroft turned away and shut his eyes. His hands balled into fists. Damn it, why was he bringing this up? He'd been angry at the time, but Gregory was correct - it was long ago. And hadn't Mycroft done much worse in the name of helping Sherlock? Bribery, blackmail, extortion...why was he picking a fight, why now?

He was distancing himself. Sooner or later, he would show his regular self...the Ice Man. He had this day, but what would happen after Christmas? Gregory obviously cared for him, but to what end? A man like Gregory would not want a future with Mycroft. It was unthinkable.

"Stop." Gregory placed a warm hand on his arm. His voice was firm but soft. "Stop this, right now." He wrapped himself around Mycroft. "Love, stop. I know what you're doing. You're scared, and that's okay. I am too, all right? I want this, so much, and I have for a long time. I'm scared you'll realize I'm not nearly in your league, and you'll fall for some powerful toff bastard and kick me to the kerb. But I'm not gonna let that keep me from being with you, and showing you how fucking crazy I am about you." Gregory leaned up and placed a kiss at the back of Mycroft's neck, making the other man shiver. "So you can pick all the fights you want, but I'm not going anywhere."

"You're..." Mycroft shook his head. "You can't mean that."

Greg frowned. "Which part?"

"All of it!" Mycroft slammed his fist on the counter. "You are the most desirable man I have ever met. You could have anyone. Anyone! It is neither logical or possible for you to want me, not the way I've wanted you, and certainly you cannot desire a _relationship_ with me, I am not...I'm not meant for..." His voice faltered and he covered his eyes, feeling ashamed.

"Mycroft." Greg's tone was firm, like the hand on his arm. "Mycroft. Come on. Let's sit down."

As humiliating as it was, Mycroft allowed the other man to guide him to the living room. Both men sat down, with Greg taking Mycroft's hands in his. 

"Take a deep breath" Greg commanded. 

Mycroft obeyed, too overcome to object.

"Good." Greg squeezed his hands. "Now look at me."

Reluctantly Mycroft looked up. Once he locked eyes with Greg's warm gaze, he was unable to look away. 

"There you are." Greg smiled. "Now, I'm going to say something completely honest - your brother is a genius, and he is an arsehole."

Mycroft managed a chuckle. 

"Yep, that's right. Brilliant, but a real knob. Not just for how shitty he can be to others, but to you in particular. I know it bothers you. He and all the other fuckers that got into your head, telling you that you're not worthy of love, of affection, they can fuck right off. Now look at me." Greg moved closer. "We were talking about first meetings. When I first saw you, I thought, "Who is this posh fucker, kidnapping me like this?" But then I kept looking. I saw a brilliant man, a _sexy_ man, and I starting thinking of what it would be like...to be with someone like that. Like you."

Mycroft could only stare at him in shock. Greg noticed this and smiled. "Yeah. That didn't go away after our meeting - even though the last thing I said to you that night was "fuck off". Kept thinking of it each time we talked, and each time you summoned me and waved me away." Greg's eyes flashed mischievously. "Wanted to take you over that desk. Wanted you to command me to suck your cock. Thought about your voice whispering to me. What you sound like when you come."

"My god." Mycroft shivered.

"Yeah. Drove me crazy. And when I was in Dartmoor, I kept hoping you'd show up." Greg looked down at his hands and fidgeted a bit. "I was thinking about a lot of things then" he mumbled. "Big picture things. End of my marriage did that, I guess. I thought about being on holiday with you. Making plans, and all that. Thought about...coming home to you."

" _Gregory..._ "

"I know." Greg winced. "Daft, right? But I kept thinking of it, all the same. Still do." He lifted his head, his dark intense gaze making Mycroft's throat feel dry. "So don't push me away. Not from this. Don't think I don't want it, because I do. I want it so fucking much..."

"Gregory." Mycroft reached forward and held him tight. He knew he was trembling but couldn't help it. "My dearest...you truly have no idea. I've been struggling with this, I did not want to acknowledge my inclinations, rather my affection toward you, and to know you felt the same way..." He kissed Greg's neck and sighed. "Darling. I am...I am quite overwhelmed. I cannot find the right words."

"Don't need 'em." Greg kissed him and stroked his hair soothing him while he looked into his eyes. "We want more, yes? Of this, each other?"

Mycroft fought against the urge to look away and nodded.

"Good. We'll figure it out, love. I promise." He smiled and kissed him again, then stood up and held out his hand. "Let's go back upstairs."

"Gregory." Mycroft whispered his name and reached for him. "There's something I want. With you. Now."

Greg licked his lips. He could feel his pulse racing already. "Anything."

Mycroft looked up at him, his gaze intense. "I want you. I want _you_ , Gregory." He stood and stepped closer, his lips brushing against his lover's, then moving to his ear to whisper. "I want you inside me...I want you to make love to me."


	14. Chapter 14

Turnabout was fair play. 

This time, Mycroft lay helpless as Gregory attended to him, preparing him with patience and care. It was slow, tender... intoxicating.

Mycroft gasped as Gregory swirled his tongue under the head of his cock, slowly inserting another finger into him. He moaned as Mycroft ran his fingers through his hair. Gregory's fingers were thick and explored him playfully, gently curling. 

"Oh god." Mycroft shivered. "Gregory."

"Mmm." The slurping sound of Mycroft's cock slipping out of Gregory's mouth caused another shiver. "Fuck, you taste good."

Mycroft took in a shaking breath as Gregory pushed his fingers in deeper, stretching him. The generous amount of lube (cherry cordial, which Gregory declared delicious and let Mycroft have a small taste) made every touch pleasurable. Still, Gregory was taking his time preparing his lover.

"No need to rush" Gregory murmured, swirling his fingers around. "And I'm a bit big, love. Don't want to hurt you."

Mycroft moaned, tilting his hips up. "You are big...so thick. Inside me soon."

Gregory growled and placed a sucking kiss at the tip of Mycroft's cock. "At some point I'm going to have you slide this into me. Gonna fill me up." He placed a series of kisses along Mycroft's balls and inner thighs while continuing to work inside him. 

After a few minutes Mycroft began pleading, insisting he was ready. Gregory nuzzled against his cock, giving it a few soft kisses, then gently removed his fingers. He moved up, placing kisses on his lover's stomach and chest, running his hands along Mycroft's sides. He licked and murmured into his neck, settling in between his legs. 

"Gregory," Mycroft whispered, and turned to capture his lover in a kiss.

They embraced each other, with Mycroft wrapping his long legs around Gregory's waist. "Fuck," Gregory moaned, and rocked against him. "Baby...are you ready?"

"Yes." Mycroft kissed him again, tilting his hips up and placing his hands on Gregory's shoulders. "Please...now, my darling."

Gregory nodded, gave him another kiss, and reached in the care package for a condom. He slid it on, stroking himself with a bit more lube before positioning himself at Mycroft's entrance. He looked up, caressing Mycroft's face and looking deep into his eyes. "Ready?" he whispered again.

Mycroft could only nod, overcome.

Slowly, Gregory began sliding inside, his gaze never leaving Mycroft's face. 

"God!" Mycroft's jaw dropped. His grip on his lover's shoulders tightened, softly begging for more when Gregory paused. He was so _thick_ , and hard. 

"Oh god, oh god." Gregory shivered when he was fully inside. "Fuck, so good." He rolled his hips and groaned as Mycroft whimpered and raised his hips. "Myc...not gonna last long. So good..."

"Want you." Mycroft whined as Gregory stretched him with a deeper thrust. "Please...please, more..."

A slow rhythm began, both men gasping and grabbing at each other. 

"I adore you," Gregory whispered, moving slightly faster. "So beautiful, so brilliant. Want you."

Mycroft could only moan in response. He held tightly onto his lover, his cock rubbing against their stomachs. The friction on the inside and outside of his body was building to an intense climax that would surely rip him apart.

"Baby...love...oh, Myc." Gregory rested his forehead against Mycroft's shoulder. "Gonna...fuck, oh _fuck_. Soon, baby...c-cant last, you feel so good...oh god..."

"Gregory..." Mycroft moaned loudly as the pace quickened. "Fuck...oh god, you're big..."

"Shit." Gregory grabbed onto his lover's waist, fucking him harder. "Oh god...baby...fuck, you feel incredible..."

Mycroft gasped as he felt his climax hurtling closer, until it broke through him. He cried out and held onto Gregory, who moaned and began shaking as Mycroft clenched around him, dragging him into his own orgasm. Both men rutted against each other, drawing out their pleasure. Shouts eased into gasps and grunts as Gregory collapsed on top of Mycroft, mumbling nonsense as his lover stroked his hair.

"My god." Mycroft took a deep shaking breath. "You're incredible."

Gregory smiled against his chest. "That's you," he slurred.

Mycroft managed a chuckle. "Modesty is not necessary at this time."

"Mmkay." Gregory gently slipped out of him and rolled to the side to remove the condom. "Ah...fuck. Forgot about this part. Never, ah, fun... sensitive."

Mycroft watched him carefully tie the end. "We could, that is...if you would not be opposed..."

"Hmm?" Gregory set the condom onto a pile of nearby tissues, taking a few to gently clean up their stomachs and chests. When he was finished, he settled against Mycroft again. "Tell me, love."

_God, how is this happening?_ Mycroft held him close and smiled. "I was thinking that, if it did not perturb you, we could complete the necessary steps to ensure that we are both bereft of any communicable maladies, and therefore..."

Gregory looked up at him in surprise. "Really? Are you sure?"

"Well...yes. Although it would mean a commitment and mutual agreement of fidelity, of which I would be very much in favor."

"Aw, love!"

Mycroft was astonished to hear himself giggling as his lover playfully kissed him all over his neck and shoulder. "My goodness! I suppose this means you are also in favor?"

"Of committing to you, to us? Definitely!" Gregory leaned over him, his famous grin making Mycroft's heart beat erratically. "I told you...I want this. I want you." He smirked. "And yeah, the idea of coming inside you and having you feel it - yeah, that's definitely appealing."

"Mmm, yes." God, that handsome face...so captivating, so open and warm. Looking at him with affection. "I adore you, my darling."

Dark eyes softened with tenderness. "I adore _you_ , gorgeous."

They kissed for a while, holding each other and nuzzling into each other's warmth. After a few moments Gregory sighed and cuddled against Mycroft. "Sounds like it's getting windy outside."

"Mmm." Mycroft pulled the sheets over them and gently stroked Gregory's hair as they both began to doze.

  
•••••••••••••••••••••••  


_\- Was your ceremony fun?_

_\- Apart from...your blunder._

_\- How is your face?_

_**My face is FINE.** _

_\- No bruising?_

_**NO** _

_\- Good thing your best friend is a doctor._

_**Oh and GOOD THING my obese brother sends his minions to observe me at all times so that may spy on everything I do!!** _

_\- Actually, this was all me. I was curious. Your brother is quite busy with other things right now, it seems._

_**Yes, the shagfest between a prying beached whale and a useless whimpering puppy! The science community vomits collectively at the thought.** _

_\- Did the science community hit his head when he fell during his speech? I've zoomed on and replayed the video many times but I can't tell if your skull actually hit the stage._

_**I did not FALL.** _

_\- Evidence suggests you did._

_**I was walking and slightly stumbled. I recovered myself and was able to successfully deliver the remainder of my speech.** _

_\- John was laughing._

_**John is a man who has little to no self control of his reactions.** _

_\- I am planning to loop the video and set it to music. I predict you will become quite the hit on YouTube._

_**You are not funny.** _

_\- The children were laughing as well._

_**Those simpering fools are easily amused! And furthermore, they only tittered for a brief moment.** _

_\- No, they were hysterical._

_**Why did they squawk at me? Is it a bizarre form of communication for this idiotic generation?** _

_\- When you began losing your footing, you flapped your arms, and with that coat of yours, it resembled a bird attempting flight._

_\- Perhaps a raven, or a crow._

_**NOT. FUNNY.** _


	15. Chapter 15

It was snowing. The wind had picked up, and was blowing flurries of snow and ice against the window.

No one in the Holmes country house noticed. They were far too occupied. 

"Baby...oh, love." Greg shivered as Mycroft's tongue continued to prepare him. Soft, wet, teasing him with small licks that made him jump and long, slow licks that made him shudder. "Jesus. Gonna...fucking hell..."

His cock had been leaking since they woke and Mycroft had crawled under the covers to gently suck at him. His mouth had moved from his prick to his testicles, drooling as he sucked them into his mouth and hummed. The tiny vibrations made Greg grasp the sheets and blubber nonsense. He was almost a goner when Mycroft pulled away and had him turn over on all fours.

"Fuck..." That sinful tongue was replaced by a finger, gently prodding. Greg pushed back, groaning as it pushed deeper and began to feel around inside. "Oh, baby..."

"So tight," Mycroft whispered. "My darling." He bent down to kiss Greg's lower back and inserted another finger, gently prodding inside. The lube and saliva made it easy, but Greg still gritted his teeth at the feel of it. 

He couldn't come. Not yet.

_Paperwork. Still a stack on inbox at my desk. Filing. Got to alphabetize...oh my FUCKING...there!_

"Please please please please soon, oh shit, n-now, oh Christ!" Greg nearly tore the sheets as he gripped at them. 

Mycroft nudged at his prostate once more, then withdrew and positioned himself behind his lover. "My darling" he whispered. "Are you certain...?"

"Now, please. Please please. Close." Greg whined as Mycroft pushed against him, far too gently. The size of the other man made his jaw drop. He was so _deep_. Greg instinctively pushed back, making them both shout as Mycroft was fulky sheathed inside. 

"God! Oh god... Gregory..." Mycroft shivered. "Darling, are you all right?"

Greg nodded. "M-move. Please. Please fuck me. Need it."

Mycroft moved slowly, careful not to fully withdraw. He developed a slow, steady rhythm, caressing Greg's sides as he moved inside him.

"More" Greg moaned as his lover moved faster. He gripped onto the headboard and gasped as Mycroft's cock grazed against his prostate. "Fuck!"

Mycroft stilled his movements, gasping. "I...did I hurt you? Oh god..."

"No...no no no, it's so good." Greg moaned and ground his hips against him. "More. More, right there. Give it to me."

Mycroft gasped and moved deeper, grunting as he began truly fucking the other man. 

"Oh god." Greg gripped at the headboard and braced his arms. "Fuck. You are goddamn big...god, yes. Fuck me."

Mycroft groaned and tightened his hold on Greg's hips. He began moving faster, harder. Soon Greg's moans turned to shouts as he felt his cock jerk, then spurt onto the sheets below. Mycroft growled and but at his shoulder as Greg reached down to squeeze himself with the bursts of pleasure, feeling himself contract around his lover.

"Gregory...oh, Gregory!" Mycroft gasped and began climaxing himself, his fingers digging into Greg's sides. He shuddered and moaned, slowly withdrawing before collapsing on the bed. They both squirmed, breathing hard and reaching for each other.

"You're wonderful" Greg slurred, nuzzling against Mycroft's chest. "Incredible."

Mycroft held him, staring up at the ceiling and panting.

"Hey." Greg kissed his chest and reached up to caress his face. "Are you alright?"

Mycroft nodded weakly and tightened his arms around Greg. "I am...quite affected. I..." He swallowed and sighed deeply. "Forgive me, I...I must catch my breath."

Greg grinned and leaned up to nuzzle against his neck. "You fucked me so hard," he purred. "You deserve some rest, love."

"My god..." Mycroft shivered and closed his eyes. "Gregory..."

"Mmm." Greg kissed him gently and settled back against him. "Sleep, love. It's alright."

Mycroft murmured something, his hand stroking Greg's hair, and his breathing began to deepen. They both already began to doze and didn't notice when the power flickered and went out.


	16. Chapter 16

_**  
\- Greg?** _

_**\- Lestrade.** _

_**\- My brother is not answering his texts. You must respond.** _

_**\- LESTRADE.** _

_**\- We are leaving!** _

_**\- Inspector Lestrade. We have left and are approaching the house. I insist on arriving to find the both of you clothed.** _

_**\- I do not wish to witness your intimacy with my corpulent brother!** _

_**\- LESTRADE!  
** _

  
•••••••••••••••••••••••  


_  
**\- Anthea. Or whatever your name is.**  
_

_**\- This is dire. You must contact my brother.** _

_**\- I cannot subject myself to viewing my brother in any form of undress!** _

_\- You have been texting me quite a lot, Mr. Holmes._

_**\- Call my brother.** _

_\- He is busy._

_**\- We are on our way home. I cannot reach Lestrade.** _

_\- Oh._

_\- Mr. Holmes's phone is not working. I am... not able to reach him.  
_

  
•••••••••••••••••••••••  


"No," Sherlock whispered as Father parked the car. He hurried out and began to pace as Father and Mummy chatted while they exited the car as well. John was droning on about something insignificant, meanwhile Lestrade and Mycroft could be...at this moment...and when they would enter the home, everyone - including Mummy and Father - would have to hear them...or even see them...

"Come now, Sherlock." Mummy petted her younger son's back as he stared at his phone in horror. "We're here. Home at last! And it's snowing! How wonderful."

"Good thing we did not get caught in it," Father noted as he took Mummy's hand and began walking to the house.

"Sherlock?" John nudged his friend with his elbow. "C'mon. Get off your phone. I was just joking about uploading the clip of you falling on your face to the internet."

"Shut up," Sherlock snapped. "I must think...snow...the window..."

"What window?"

"Shut _up_ , John."

"Oi! Keep it up and I _will_ upload the video! I'll make you into a bloody meme!"

Sherlock glared at his friend. "Are you incapable of being quiet?"

John stared back, then squawked and lifted his elbows in a parody of a crow, just as the children did when they taunted Sherlock. 

"Idiot!" Sherlock howled, and scurried to the back of the house.

  
•••••••••••••••••••••••  


Greg was the first to wake up, feeling a slight chill even though most of his body was warm, snuggled against a stirring Mycroft.

Warm legs, warm arms, cuddled with his lover. Cold nose.

_Why cold? We're all tucked in..._

Greg realized the soft whirring of the heat had gone silent. He sat up and shivered.

"Hey, gorgeous? Is there a draft?"

His lover reached for his phone and groaned. "Gregory...the power is out. My phone is not operational, and judging by the temperature in the room, it has been out for some time."

"Shit." Greg sighed as Mycroft sat up and pulled a blanket off the bed to drape over his shoulders. "No generator?"

"I do believe it's in the garage. I shall fetch it and..."

"Babe, no, I'll get it..."

A sudden sound made them both jump.

_Thud._

"What..?" Greg whispered.

_Thud. THUD._

They stared at each other in disbelief, then at the window behind them.

_Thud._ An explosion of snow.

"Someone's throwing snowballs at the window," Greg whispered incredulously. "Who...?" He leaned forward, and sighed.

He later wondered why he wondered who could be doing such an odd thing. Sherlock Holmes, seemingly in a fit, was running back and forth, throwing snowballs. He kept looking around as he moved, but seemed to avoid staring at the window he was pummeling. 

"Good God. Your brother. He did that moving around this morning, when he had me stand outside. Was this his plan?"

Mycroft squinted at his little brother. "It does appear that is the nature of his behavior. You'll see he is alone. His experimentation of movement that you observed this morning was apparently a means of determining the visibility of those approaching the house of this very window. As for the lobbying of snow at us, he is apparently signaling..." His eyes became wide. "My parents! Dr. Watson! They are _returning to the house!_ "

In seconds the two men were in a flurry of motion.

"Here...your shirt..."

"Thanks love. Your tie..."

"Thank you."

After dressing they hurriedly gathered their newfound toys into a box they stashed under Mycroft's bed. 

"Christ, it's like we're bloody teenagers," Greg muttered. "Hiding before Mum and Dad get home. Did we get every..."

His question was interrupted by a kiss. Mycroft held him tight, wrapping his arms around Greg's waist. Gently he broke the kiss, and rested his forehead against Greg's neck. 

"I..." Mycroft took a deep breath. "I do not wish to convey the notion that I am ashamed of you. I do not wish to hide our relationship. I...I shall inform my parents that we are a couple. However, to do so in a form of undress, with...supplies among us..."

Greg beamed and hugged his lover close. "Gorgeous. I'm honored. Are you sure? They'll figure out we've, um, slept together while they were gone."

Mycroft sighed. "An inevitable conclusion. My parents will be able to deduce it, though they'd wait to ask me about once they had me secluded. As for Doctor Watson..."

The front door slammed. "John Watson is a menace of the highest order! I shall not bestow any sort of gift to him this Christmas, or on any day!"

Greg winced. "Your brother is back."


End file.
